To Move Beyond
by finnie200
Summary: When offered the chance, Lyra chose to jump worlds, leaving behind the wizarding world to find a better and happier future. Two years after the death of his parents, Bilbo Baggins finds an unconscious Big Person lying outside his house.
1. Chapters 1-5

**I make clear from the start that this is a rather odd story- I am not sure why I even wrote it except that I wanted to see some really awesome and sneaky hobbits.**

 **I am unlikely to update this story for a little bit but it has been sitting on my computer for so long, I just had to publish it.**

 **Please note: I am well aware that hobbits do not have any type of royalty but please just go with it!**

 **Disclaimer- I own neither _Harry Potter_ nor _The Hobbit_**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: _Dealing with the Aftermath_**

It has been argued that the aftermath of a war is almost worse than the war itself. Without the fighting there is too much time to reflect on the losses. The destruction becomes more obvious as people work out and total up the cost of the war while blame and judgement abound. This was what was discovered at the end of the Second British Wizarding War. Entire families were gone, others split irrevocably by their beliefs and actions. Azkaban was heaving but the Ministry seemed to have returned to normal.

Perhaps this was to be expected. Routine and normality were craved by many and the easiest and quickest way to do this was to return to the original state but with new people in charge. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the courts were filled as the people of the British wizarding world tried to pass the blame and find both scape-goats and heroes. Many of those tattooed with the mark of Voldemort ended up in Azkaban but some, too many in fact, had once again managed to evade punishment through their money, name and power or simply due to their disappearance into anonymity and hiding.

For Lyra Potter, whose entire life had been ruled by the actions of Voldemort, the changes or, in some cases, lack of changes were impossible to deal with. And she felt like she alternated between being a show pony for the Ministry and being ignored as she was deemed perhaps unnecessary now the Dark Lord was dead. She craved normality and peace as well as friends who weren't off in their own little world, leaving her alone, not that she could blame them entirely. Hermione and Ron had become engaged two months after the Battle of Hogwarts, they had moved in together and were content. They spoke to Lyra but rarely outside of the parties and events that they attended together. They were happy; happy being a part of the group that destroyed Voldemort. Ron had the fame he had always craved, whilst Hermione had been offered the pick of jobs in just about all departments of the Ministry, she eventually chose to join the Department of Creature and Creature Relations in order to help house elves and the like.

Lyra felt alone. Remus was gone. Sirius was gone. Dumbledore was gone. All the mentors and people who she had looked up to were dead and those that were alive had found solace with others and their problems or their own grief. While she of course understood this, it hurt no less. She rattled around Grimmauld Place, trying to avoid going out for fear of the paparazzi who seemed interested in her every move but at the same time scared to remain in the house as the memories weighed her down like stones around her neck. She had no desire to return to Hogwarts, the halls of the school had too many ghosts of people and memories she loved. So, since the memorial there, a month after the Battle, she had not returned despite pressure for her to go to teach, lecture or speak to the students. She knew she was struggling to cope and admitted it to herself. The nightmares plagued her and she struggled to eat enough (too used to the lack of food whilst on the run) despite Dobby and Kreacher's attempts.

The two elves had stayed with her, helping her when she needed it and trying to help her move on, although it didn't really work to pull her from her present state. It had surprised her that the two had actually finally started to work together, after Dobby had saved them at Malfoy Manor, Kreacher had decided that the younger elf wasn't a total waste of space whilst Dobby had appreciated the help the Black elf had given finding the locket horcrux. Together the pair had led the Hogwarts house elves in the Final Battle and had both survived much to Lyra's relief, she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if one of her loyal little companions had been hurt or killed like so many others had.

Now just under three months after the Battle of Hogwarts Lyra sitting in the Drawing room in Grimmauld Place as the mantel-piece clock ticked down the seconds to her eighteenth birthday. There was no dust now to draw a birthday cake on the polished table so she grabbed the salt shaker and, emptying it, carefully constructed the image of a birthday cake in front of her with its contents.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

And as the clock struck midnight Lyra blew the image of the cake away, sending it skittering over the mahogany and onto the floor beneath where it vanished and slipped through the floorboards.

However, she was not expecting the pain that followed afterwards. Her cry of pain attracted the attention of Dobby and Kreacher in the kitchen below who appeared with a ' _crack'_ in the room. Seeing their beloved mistress slumped over whimpering in pain, they cried out too, racing to her. But as quick as the pain came, it went, leaving the witch asleep, her face relaxed and calm. Seeing Lyra in no more distress and only asleep according to their diagnosis spells, the two elves moved her to her bedroom and lay her on her bed. Silently agreeing to wait for her to awake, the pair sat beside her bed until dawn.

The following morning, Lyra woke up later than normal at around ten o'clock and undisturbed by her normal nightmares but as she was about to turn over to go back to sleep to further enjoy the peace, she heard Dobby's worried voice,

"Missie Lyra, are you okay now?"

"Good morning, Dobby. Yes, I am fine, why?"

"Do you not remember last night?"

Lyra thought for a minute then sat up as she remembered the sudden flash of pain she felt the previous night.

"What was that? Why did I feel that?"

"We don't know Missie", Dobby was saddened by this for he felt as though he had failed his mistress.

"I feel fine, I don't look any different do I? It wasn't a creature inheritance, although I suppose they happen when you turn seventeen."

As she raised her hand to swipe away her fringe, both Dobby and Kreacher yelped.

"What, what is it?"

"You… you're hand"

Looking down at her hands before her, Lyra was struck dumb for on the back of her right hand was a mark that had not been there before, the mark of the Deathly Hallows. The line of the Elder Wand, the circle that was the Resurrection Stone, enclosed by the triangle that was the Invisibility Cloak, decorated with swirling lines, Lyra turned her hands over and over, tried rubbing the dark-grey mark with her left hand before racing into the adjoining bathroom to the basin to try to remove it with water and soap. Nothing worked and the mark remained unaltered and true on her hand, the dark outline standing out against her pale skin.

"What is it? Why is it there?"

Lyra was panicking she knew that but as she stared at her house elves she saw that they knew no better than she. She had destroyed one of the Hallows and lost the other, only the cloak remained with her, hung on its peg by the front door for use when she wanted to escape the packs of photographers and reporters that haunted her every move.

"LYRA, LYRA! Where are you?"

Hermione's voice rang through the house from the fireplace in the drawing room. Lyra quickly ran to a dresser and started pulling items of clothing from its drawers trying to find some gloves, Kreacher beat her to them though and pushed a pair of fine white silk gloves into her hands.

Looking at her as he held her hand gently, the aged elf said, "Don't tell them yet, enjoy your birthday and we will go through the Black Library later. Understand Missie?"

Lyra nearly choked with panic over her own situation and gratitude towards the odd creature who had stayed with her through war and peace with the same level of cynicism, "Thank you Kreacher"

Hermione suddenly walked into the room, a pale blue cocktail dress on, a cloak over her arm and her hair tamed into a smart French twist.

"Come on Lyra, you aren't even dressed. Come on, everyone is waiting. Let me find you a dress. We haven't talked in ages, I have so much to talk to you about. Oh, did you read in the papers that Ron has been offered a position for the Canons, it isn't a starting position but he is so happy! The other thing I have on my list for you is to organise a time for you to publicly speak to the Department of Creatures and tell them some of our stories about how house elves helped us win the war. Speaking of, why do you still have Dobby and Kreacher here, I thought you cared about S.P.E.W…"

Hermione continued in this vein for a while longer as she rummaged through the wardrobe, Lyra wondered whether her friend had always been like this. She could not decide whether Hermione had changed or she had; whatever the case, she just knew she didn't like it now she had noticed it. To be truthful, it scared her; she felt like she had no idea anymore who people were. She had been through war and this feeling she could not shake really bothered and worried her.

Seeing the dress that had been picked out, Lyra shuddered slightly, it was a set of full and very expensive silver dress robes that complemented her dark hair and caused her green eyes to shimmer against the monochrome colours. This had been what she had dreaded, this obviously wasn't going to be a quiet and private birthday like she had enjoyed at the Burrow while at school but a public event, with the rich and famous of the wizarding world. At this moment Lyra could only wonder whether her whole life was going to be like this, a public event, what would her wedding be like? Would any husband and children she had be subject to the same scrutiny? Would it never end? She had spent the last seven years fighting, she wanted peace now and a family, not sycophantic followers who only cared about her titles, money and fame. She wanted people who wanted her as 'just Lyra', what made the entire thing worse was that she found herself doubting even Hermione and Ron at times like this.

She sighed as she pulled on the robes and allowed her friend to liberally apply some cosmetic and hair charms to tame the riotous black curls that fell to her waist. Picking up her clutch, she followed Hermione to the floo, as she followed Hermione through, yelling 'Ministry of Magic atrium' she collected herself and pushed all her feelings aside, pulling on a mask.

As she exited the floo elegantly, (Kreacher had forced her to practice until she could do it in five inch heels and a floor length gown whilst balancing a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ on her head), she heard clapping and cheering and saw a crowd of over three hundred people. Waving slightly, she walked towards Kingsley who was still acting as the Minster for Magic. After he had kissed her cheeks and he offered her his arm and led her up onto a small platform. From it Lyra could looked down at the throng of richly attired people below who stood, champagne glasses in hands, as they listened to Kingsley.

"It is a great honour to be able to celebrate with you all the birthday of Lyra Potter. I have known Lyra now for over three years and in that time she has gone on to do some of the most amazing things that have saved our world and for which we are so grateful. Our world owns a great deal to this woman and I can honestly say, that I am honoured to know her, as, I am sure, are you. So let us all raise a glass to our Girl-Who-Lived and Woman-Who-Won"

Lyra could only look as the room toasted her. Struggling to contain her emotions, she wanted to shout at them, to tell them they had no understanding of her pains, that she was Lyra Potter and no one else. She wanted them to acknowledge that she was her own person, not some weapon to be used, not some toy to be paraded about when the mood struck, that she was not theirs. However, at the same time, she was not, by any means, ungrateful and had no wish to upset, offend, or make life difficult for the survivors of the Second Blood War as it was now known. So she once again shoved those thoughts down as she tried to smile, rather than grimace at the crowd below, the majority of whom were celebrating the peace that their world now enjoyed.

Later, whilst moving through the crowd, she met a group who looked almost as uncomfortable as her, consisting of Neville, Luna, Fred and George. Seeing her approach they smiled in greeting and pulled her into hugs, Fred whispering that they were sorry this had all been organised without her permission. The twins had always knew that she hated this, the attention and the glory and they never tried to compare their pain to hers despite the fact that they had suffered so with Percy killed during the Final Battle saving Fred, nor did they give insincere platitudes and sympathies like others had. Instead they helped Lyra in the same manner that Neville and Luna did, by simply being there whether she wanted or needed them, whether it be night, day or anytime in-between. Unlike Ron and Hermione who were forever flittering around making the most of their new opportunities and status, Lyra knew that she could always call on one of the four and they would come whether to listen to her sobbing or her ranting, it did not bother them so long as she called rather than waste away in silence.

Just as Lyra was about to turn to leave the group to continue her greetings to the others in the party before Mrs. Weasley or Hermione came to remind her of her 'duties', Luna grabbed her gloved right hand and rubbed her thumb across the back of it. Looking up in panic, Lyra was surprised to see a soft smile on the face of the airy blonde.

"Lyra, it will be alright. Whether today, tomorrow or in five years' time, I promise you that you will find your place, a family and love. It will be alright and you will be happy. You will go beyond us all!"

Having heard these types of messages before, Lyra knew to heed them as there was occasionally prophetic undertones to her words. Nodding minutely at her friend and giving a look that promised further words on the subject, the Girl-Who-Lived was enveloped into a group of fawning sycophants, all congratulations and best wishes that made her feel sick to the bone with their insincerity.

When Lyra returned later that afternoon she entered the door of Grimmauld Place and sighed deeply as she pulled the glove off her right hand to inspect the mark once more that had neither faded or disappeared as she had hoped.

"Kreacher? Dobby?" She called as she wandered up the stairs to her bedroom to remove her robes and change into something a little less formal.

"Missie Lyra?" Kreacher said as he appeared in front of her on the landing, "How was the party?"

Lyra chuckled slightly, " A bore but what can one do. Would you mind having some tea prepared for me in the library? I feel we need to get to the bottom of whole mysterious and rather creepy tattoo randomly appearing on me."

Kreacher nodded, "There are some presents that arrived through the day for your birthday. Would you like to open them then?"

"Sounds a good plan. Would you like to come and sit and have tea with me? It feels a bit lonely to sit and open presents by myself."

Kreacher nodded, it was now quite normal for the two house elves to sit with Lyra, "Dobby made treacle tart earlier, Kreacher will bring some up."

The witch smiled slightly as she opened the door to her bedroom, her two house elves were wonderful beings and she was ever so grateful for their presence in her life. Slipping out of the cocktail dress, she put on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and her quidditch jumper, before wiping the make up off her face. Clean faced, she made her way back down the stairs and into the fabled library of the Black family which had been supplemented by the large collection of volumes from the Potter family. Spying the tea tray on a table by the window, she made her way over.

"Kreacher? Dobby?"

"Here Missie!" Came the voice of Dobby from somewhere deep in the stacks of books, "We is looking for some books to look at."

Lyra made her way to where the voices came from and found the two elves standing looking up around the shelves filled with books of runic law.

"I think we should start with the _Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ and go from there. That is where the symbol came from after all." Lyra said, as she pulled out a heavy tome on symbolism within myths.

As Dobby rushed off to find a copy of the children's book, Kreacher turned to Lyra,

"The tea should have steeped enough. I shall pour you a cup, Missie."

Following in the wake of the elf, Lyra soon found herself seated in a comfortable arm chair with a cup and saucer in one hand and a generous piece of treacle tart at her elbow. Soon enough, Dobby came trotting back with two books, a slim volume and beneath, a large grimoire.

"Sit down you two!" Lyra said, "Why don't you have some tea and tart and I can open some presents?"

After both elves had both been supplied with vittles, Lyra turned to the pile of presents. There weren't that many, for which she was glad. Between the goblins and the elves, all her mail was checked; fan mail removed, cursed letters and parcels destroyed and all monetary donations going straight to a Hippogriff sanctuary on the Borders of Scotland in memory of Buckbeak. Therefore, by the time she had got her post, she only really had to contend with personal correspondence, letters from Gringotts, invitations and the occasional important missive from some politician, dignity or official.

Pulling a parcel from the top of the pile, Lyra grinned at the wrapping paper. It alone showed that it was from the Weasley twins as it featured a werewolf, grim and stag running across the paper, pulling each other into playing. Carefully, she pulled off the ribbon and paper, trying her best to save it. Opening it, she was not surprised to find a whole collection of their new projects, ranging from everlasting notebooks to a potion which improved the soil conditions of a garden. Smirking, she remembered the work that Gred and Forge had done with Neville that had resulted in that particular potion.

Supping her tea, she deposited that box and pulled up another, writing a mental note to remember to send a thank you letter to the twins. Pulling the paper apart, she revealed an entire collection of seeds and miniaturised plants in tiny pots. Slightly confused, she opened the card that had sat in the box:

 _Dear Lyra,_

 _Happy birthday! I was going to give you something more exciting but Luna said you would appreciate these more. I don't really know why... but, anyway, trying to argue against Luna is like trying to argue with you and that is something I prefer to avoid. Anyway, the seeds are pretty self explanatory but the shrubs and trees have been shrunk and put into a stasis charm. It should last a good long time, when you want to plant them, just remove the spell and plant as normal._

 _You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Please remember that and remember that you mean so much to me and many others. You are a brilliant person who deserves so much more than you are getting at the moment, just do something with your life, meet someone and be happy. You deserve it, more than any of us._

 _With the utmost love and affection,_

 _Neville Longbottom_

By the end of the card, Lyra was forced to wipe a tear from her face, her godbrother was a good, good person who she knew would go far. Tucking the card back into the envelope, she placed it back into the box and resealed its valuable contents.

As she picked up the next present, it was obviously shaped like books and spying the label, she saw it was from Hermione and Ron. With a sigh she pulled off the wrapping paper and revealed a selection of books on the Ministry and the Chudley Canons. Lyra deposited them back onto the ground. Covering them back up, she resolved to flick through them in the next week as she was sure she would be questioned on them at some point.

"Right!" She proclaimed, deciding to leave the rest of the presents for morning; most of them looked to be presents from politicians and other acquaintances and she was sure they could wait. "We should move on to the more pressing matter now." She sighed as she glanced at her uncovered hand once more.

Lyra sat back and opened out _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and turned to the story of the Peverells and reread it slowly as she supped her tea. Once she had finished she sat back with a frown.

"This doesn't seem to be helping really. As a text I am sure it has been so distorted over the years and altered to become a childrens' tale."

Kreacher tilted his head, "I don't think the story will help. That story was recorded in the 13th century. And it may have been a story long before it was written down. Unless one of the Brothers told Beedle then we is not knowing if it is accurate anyway. And even in the wizarding world only the wealthy is being able to read and write. And they is writing Latin. Not English."

Lyra sighed, "I had forgotten that...". While the wizarding world had had schools earlier than the muggle one, many had been taught magic by their parents and not attended school as the children were required to work and Hogwarts had not achieved its venerable status then. Even Latin was written phonetically which was one of the reasons why so many of the ancient spell books were useless to most of the population, there was no standardised language and there were many dialects instead. It was one of the reasons why the ghosts were so useful in Hogwarts, they were able to read and write the ancient dialects of their lifetimes that were otherwise illegible to many a student.

"The stories have been translated from phonetic Latin, likely into standardised Latin and then into English which makes them pretty useless on their own as we have zero idea about the accuracy of the translator. What we do know is that the Peverell family lived in the first part of the 13th century... Antioch and Cadmus died as a result of their Hallows. Ignotus lived to have at least once child because we know he had a granddaughter called Iolanthe who married Hardwin Potter." Lyra said as she placed the book back open on the table. "In the story there are several things that are possibly up for interpretation as we know the brothers existed and we know the Hallows existed. These include: the character of Death; the creation of the Hallows; the death of Ignotus."

Dobby nodded, his ears flapping enthusiastically, "Also, what happens if you is having all three."

"That's a point!" Lyra exclaimed, "No-where does it mention anything about unifying the Hallows. The wand is an object for the offense. The cloak is an object for defense. The stone? I don't really know."

Kreacher frowned, "You is believing that they represent things that allow you to live forever?"

Lyra hummed as she flicked back through the text, "It would explain why people believed that, by possessing them, one would be able to live forever. I wonder whether Dumbledore had anything useful in his library. I know that it got donated to Hogwarts after he died."

"Maybe the goblins?" Dobby proclaimed as he topped up Lyra's tea and nudged her mostly uneaten piece of treacle tart closer to her.

"Thanks Dobby... That isn't actually a bad idea. I might send them a letter tomorrow, warn them I am coming back to Gringotts' and emphasise the fact I do not want to rob them again." Looking back down at the pile of presents by the legs of her chair, Lyra spied the label of one she had missed, "Well, I neglected to open Luna's present! May as well cheer myself up by opening it now."

Picking up the parcel which had been wrapped in leaves of all things, Lyra smiled, it was just so Luna-ish. Shaking her head slightly, Lyra pulled them off and revealed a book beneath. Frowning slightly as this was not a standard Luna present, Lyra opened it. An inscription in Luna's loopy writing graced the first page.

 _Lyra,_

 _I have discovered the joys of a muggle author called Dr. Seuss, have you heard of him? I thought I may give you just three of his wonderful quotations. I am certain that Dumbledore must have met him at some point, they both like nonsense words and riddles that make one feel stupid and then wonderful. Firstly, 'Don't cry because it is over. Smile because it happened'. I am sure you will agree that, it can't apply to the war, it can apply to the between. To the people you met, the things you saw and the experiences you had. Whatever happens, remember what you are and what made you you._

 _We all face troubles. That is a fact as consistent as the rain in Scotland. But 'Today you are you! That is truer that true! There is no-one alive that is you-er than you!'. You can move past them, you have before and you will in the future._

 _But this links to my last quotation: 'Life's too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right, forgive the ones who don't and believe that everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said it'd be easy, they just promised it would be worth it.' You will never be alone, I promise that. Relying on someone is not abusing them, there are many here who would wish you understood that more. There is a place and a plan for us all, it may lead us away, it may lead us here or there but we will all, in the end, find our place. Your place may be somewhere different from the rest of us, but that does not mean we will ever forget you, ever. Because you made me me and have done since that time we first shared a compartment in the Hogwarts' express._

 _With all the love in the world,_

 _Luna x_

Lyra frowned. This sounded almost like a goodbye and a rather permanent one at that. Whatever caused Luna to write this? Flicking over the page, Lyra was greeted by a photo of the first year Gryffindors. It had been taken at the first house party after the first quidditch party, at one point an image of Percy Weasley appeared, pushing various people into an appropriate place with the exasperation of a harassed mother. Gasping slightly, she flicked through the pages quickly. There were photos of everything, from her quidditch matches to Slughorn's Christmas party. How on earth had Luna found these? She didn't know there was a photo of the night the entire school sent in the dining room in sleeping bags during her third year. Gods above, there were photos of everyone she cared about and a few of people she really didn't, why on earth was there a photo of Umbridge chasing around a firework?

Not that she would hold this last photo against the album. Lyra hugged it tightly to her chest. Wiping away the tears that had started, she huffed a breath out.

"Kreacher? Would you mind checking that this has all the preservation and protection charms on it that you can think of?" There was no way that this album was ever getting damaged, instead it would be protected from fire, water or malicious damage.

The house elf realised how precious the item was and reverently held it in his hands as he settled into his seat and muttered under his breath as he cast his magic on it.

Lyra sighed gently as she looked over the books lying on the table, "I think I may call it a night. I am not sure I can concentrate at the moment."

"I agree." Dobby stated, "Missie Lyra goes to bed and tomorrow sees the goblins."

* * *

 **Chapter 2: _Choices in the Void_**

Lyra had never felt such a feeling of weightlessness, like every part of her body was made of nothing. The disconnected feeling was horrendous as was the lack of sensation, whether heat, cold, pain or sound. There was nothing. She could feel neither earth beneath her feet nor a single draft or wisp of wind to give her a sense of the space around her. The only sound she could hear was the _thump thump_ of her heart and the frantic breathing that reminded her that she was alive.

"Hello?" She asked, unsure whether she would prefer a response to come out of the vast void that surrounded her.

A response however, was not long in coming, "Greetings, Mistress." A voice called, it sounded neither young nor old, male or female. Instead it seemed to combine every possible tone of voice and every accent possible into an echoing sound that swum around her.

"Mistress?" She asked, trying to ask the easy questions first.

"You, my dear one, have been the Mistress since you died at the hands of Voldemort." The voice said calmly.

Lyra's heart raced, "But how... I didn't die and I didn't have the wand or the stone? I don't want to be anyone's mistress, let alone Death's."

"The wand gave its allegiance to you when you disarmed the Malfoy scion at his manor. And you did die. The Horcrux was you... I know that you believed that Tom Riddle killed his part of the soul only and that was why you survived, but he killed you. Otherwise, the snake would have come back to life after the soul fragment was killed..."

Lyra looked around into the nothingness that encompassed everything around her, "Who are you...What are you...Where are you?"

"I thought you had already answered that question yourself. It is odd," The voice returned, "That you ask those questions together for, in essence, they are one and the same. Who I am is what I am which is where I am."

"That makes no sense."

The voice laughed, "Who I am and what I am and where I am are all the same thing. I am Death, that is what I am and who I am. Where I am, is universal...everywhere and anywhere all at once."

"Death?"

"Hmm..."

"I am your Mistress? As in Thanatos or the Grim Reaper?"

The laugh came from all directions, ringing like a bell, "Dear one... There are two certainties in all the realms and all spatial and temporal planes, those of Life and Death. We are the constants, from us came all others. The gods of Greece and Egypt all existed but they came from us. Azrael, Anubis, Arawn, Aita, Supay...they all exist. And they are all me."

"Okay, so there is just you? Is that what you are saying?"

"Of course. Can you imagine if every Parthenon had its own different version of Death, every world and every religion? Havoc! Think of the paperwork! No, instead I each one of them is me, each one belonging to a different world, people or religion."

"Oh for gods sake!" Lyra proclaimed, "Why can't you must answer the questions?"

"Is it not more interesting this way?"

Lyra let a panicked laugh loose, "No. Definitely not. But why me...why am I the Mistress? The Hallows are real?"

"The Hallows are, of course real, I gave them to the Peverell brothers to alleviate a period of boredom I was enduring. There was no Black Death...nor natural disaster and no war and I am afraid I found myself at a loose end. And so, challenged the three to a game of wits. They won and I rewarded them."

"But they died, why not steal them back or something?"

"Antioch was killed, Cadmus killed himself... Ignotus died." Death corrected. "The challenge was not to get the Hallows, for they had already won them before the game was even started, but to keep them and use them effectively. Only Ignotus passed."

"Is there a difference? They all died."

"To me...yes. Antioch's death was violent, as was Cadmus'. Only Ignotus' was a choice; unlike Cadmus he was completely sane when he decided to meet me as an equal... Just as you did, as a matter of fact."

"But do you not hate them...they tricked you?"

"Hate them!" Death exclaimed, the surprised tone of his voice sounded almost mocking as it rung through the space, "Why would I hate them? They thought they had all bested me. However, only Ignotus won truly; he survived and thrived. Using the Cloak to the best of his abilities and allowing his descendants to do the same. However, like everyone and everything I claimed them all eventually."

"This does not explain why you did not steal them back?"

The cacophony around her answered, "Why would I steal them back? What would I gain from it? They were seen as a story and were, for a long time, lost and forgotten. While Grindelwald may have found the wand, the cloak was just an heirloom within a family I favoured, why would I take it back?"

Lyra huffed, "But what does this have to do with me being your mistress?"

"Everything. You are a descendant of the three brothers... I made those gifts for them. Therefore, even if Grindelwald or Dumbledore had managed to collect them all, they would never have worked as they had hoped."

"Why does it matter...possessing all three? Surely that was not what you intended?" Lyra asked, increasingly confused and bemused.

"They are three separate objects, that much is true. But together they give you power. Do you have any idea what the Elder tree is symbolic of?"

"At a rough guess, death?"

She received a chuckle in reply, "That is just one of its meanings. The others are rebirth, regeneration and renewal. What about the stone? What time of stone is it?"

Lyra sighed, "A stone. And not a pretty one at that."

"Your tales say I picked it from the river bank. I did but not at random. It is a black diamond although not cut or polished. They've long symbolised power, strength, innocence, incorruptibility, longevity, constancy, and good fortune."

"But it didn't stop Cadmus dying from a broken heart as he had only the ghost of his lover."

Death sighed, "Even I am bound by the laws I created. Cadmus used the stone for a purpose I had not intended. You may be interested to know, he was happier when I had taken him than before."

Lyra sighed, "And the Cloak."

"The Cloak was mine."

"And why does this apply to me and why the Hallows together form something?"

"You were right in your suppositions that the three were symbolic. They are symbolic of my favour. My cloak to protect for eternity; the wand to arm for eternity and a stone to help survive an eternity."

Lyra perked up in hope, "So can I not just give them back to you and you can go back to whatever you were doing before?"

The voice chuckled, "It does not work that way I am afraid."

"Why I am here?" Lyra sighed, giving up trying to the large answers from the entity, it was harder trying to get Ron to stop eating than it was to get any decent reply.

"Because I saw your sufferings... And wanted to give you a choice. A choice to move forward with your life."

"What does that even mean?"

Death laughed a chilling laugh that rattled around the space in a seemingly endless cacophony of noise, "It means whatever you want it to mean. I can take you forward...back...beyond."

"In time?"

"If you wanted."

"What does 'beyond' mean?"

"Beyond your temporal and spatial plane."

"S **o,** I would go to another dimension?" Lyra asked, confused.

"If you wanted."

"What other dimension?"

"There are thousands. Dimensions where the magical world doesn't exist... dimensions where the muggle world doesn't exist... dimensions where there are other species that you could not dream of... dimensions where there is nothing and dimensions where there is everything!"

"I feel we are going back to the time when you were being a cryptic nuisance" Lyra griped.

"Well, we have all eternity to get used to it!" Death muttered, just within the girl's hearing level.

"I didn't need reminded of that..." She moaned, "Can I not just go back and live my life until I die a natural death?"

"You could go back but you would not die. I am afraid I have grown rather fond of you and would prefer that you lived a life you deserve."

"...Right." It slightly shocked the woman how little she actually cared about returning and how well she was taking this. She remembered Luna's words, ' _You shall go beyond us all'._ Lyra trusted that girl with all her being and if she said she should go then go she shall. But not without more information.

"Do I get a choice of where I go...? If I went beyond that is?"

"No. Not this time. Dear one. I am afraid I have already found a place you are wanted, needed and where you would be loved, adored and respected to a level befitting you."

"But what about my friends? My belongings? My life?"

Death chuckled, "Shall I tell you what will happen to your friends? Would that make you feel better?"

Lyra thought deeply, she knew she was going to move forward, Death had persuaded her. It also seemed unlikely that she would ever see her friends again or the Britain she knew. It would make her feel better to know the future of her friends. "Yes."

"Master Longbottom will take Hannah Abbott for a coffee in six months after he accidently spills hers in Hogsmede. They shall marry in two years. They shall have three children, he will die when he is 137, surrounded by his great-grandchildren. The Messers Weasley shall meet a pair of American twins when they go to MACUSA to get their import licenses for their first shop in America. They will have too many redheaded children and be very very successful. Miss Lovegood will marry the grandson of Newton Scamander in three years. Between her and Rolf, they will rewrite the books on magical creatures. But every year, the four will visit the park in London opposite Grimmauld Place and have a picnic. They shall toast you and all you did, recalling every story of you they can. Their children will know you through them and continue the tradition. The last one I shall claim will be Miss Lovegood, who like you did, will greet me with open arms."

By the end Lyra was in tears. "They will be happy?"

"Yes, dearest one. But not because you left, no. They will miss you desperately but all four will know that you are happy and safe."

"And my will? I haven't updated since before the war."

"I have taken the opportunity to procure you a few items which will be added to a trunk of your belongings that you shall take with you. Mainly books and personal affects. Your money shall go to one Teddy Lupin, or at least **into** a trust in his name until he is seventeen. You are the last of your line, with your death Grimmauld Place shall vanish, the magic that has sustained it disintegrating over time."

"Will they know of my death? Or will I be missing for all eternity?"

"Tomorrow morning the automatic records that Gringotts hold shall mark you as deceased. The Ministry will I am sure, be informed promptly. By tomorrow evening, I am sure many will know that you succumbed to magical exhaustion, they shall put it down to a delayed reaction from the war. So you are agreeing to go?"

"Yes but what about D...?" Lyra asked but she could not finish as that second she was unconscious as the nothingness around her swam closer, enveloping her into it.

All she would remember of the journey was that voice once more speaking to her. "I shall visit you in a few weeks and explain all. I think you should grow accustomed to your new world before I see you again. Farewell for now, my Mistress."

* * *

 **Chapter 3: _Bilbo's odd day_**

Between 2911 and 2912 of the Third Age of Middle Earth, the Shire experienced one of the worst winters of both living and recorded memory. When the wolves had crossed the Baranduin River which had frozen solid, the hobbits were virtually defenceless, already starved due to the ever-decreasing quantities of food in their smials, they soon found themselves imprisoned in their own homes, unable to get food to feed themselves or fuel to keep themselves warm. Anyone who did venture outside for medicine, wood, water or food, mostly found themselves targets for the starving wolves or orcs who accompanied them. It was only after they had survived four months of winter and a month of attacks that Gandalf and the elves of Rivendell were able to arrive to relieve the Bounders' and bring the whole people food and medicines.

However, for most it was too little too late. Around a sixth of the population of the hobbits were killed and almost no family was left unaffected; from Frogmorton to Michel Delving many a smial was left with a smaller number of inhabitants or empty. From the powerful and odd Tooks' to the respectable Baggins' the events left scars upon the psyche of the race and defined their history for the next few years.

For Bilbo Baggins it had more of an impact than most others and now, five years after the events, which left him an orphan at the age of one-and-twenty, he still found winter to be the hardest time of all. At least in Spring and Summer he was able to pretend that everything was 'alright' that he was not lonely and numb beyond belief.

The young hobbit pulled his cloak closer as the night loomed, it was long past midsummer and the nights were getting closer, it had been freezing for some time and he was certain that snow was on its way. The walk from the Green Dragon up to his smial was neither long nor particularly strenuous but he often wished he didn't have to do it alone. He had only left his smial as faithful old Gamgee had all but kicked him out of his chair by the fire so that he could be sociable with people rather than his books and maps. Bilbo sniffed slightly, rather offended for his beloved books and maps; at least they neither asked unnecessary questions nor made unnecessary statements about his rather large and beautiful smial that was distinctly empty (for all he cared Lobelia could go and stick her head in his compost heap as that was as close as she was getting towards touching his house or possessions).

Just as he was climbing the last hill up to Bag End he happened to look over towards the right when he caught sight of a body lying beside the path. With the caution of a hobbit who was well aware that most things were bigger than him, he slowly tiptoed over.

It was clearly a Big Person although not a very big Big Person. She was definitely female, her dark hair that spilled out in the grass was rather long. Who she was and how she came to be pretty much lying in a ditch near his house in the Shire, Bilbo did not know. Approaching her carefully, Bilbo felt some of the thrill of Took that he had felt years ago, he tried to suppress it.

"Excuse me?" He asked the unresponsive figure, "Ahh… excuse me?"

He received no answer so bent down carefully and prodded her shoulder quickly before retreating a few steps, getting no reply or response he huffed. Repeating the action, slightly harder this time and receiving the same lack of response he wiggled his hairy toes slightly and sighed. He couldn't leave her out here alone when it was clearly going to be a hard night but nor could he carry the young girl to his smial by himself. And so, the young hobbit trotted off to his next door neighbour and solver of many problems, Gaffer Gamgee who, he was certain would have an idea of what one does when one is confronted with a female Big Person lying unconscious in the road.

Knocking on the door, Bilbo waited, every few seconds looking back down the road to see whether someone else had come across the girl in the road. When the door was finally opened by Gaffer, Bilbo smiled sheepishly.

"I am very sorry to disturb you on a night like this Gaffer. But I find myself in need of a little bit of assistance and advice."

Gaffer looked surprised, he had not seen this Bilbo for a while and the lad did not normally visit needing a problem solved, "What is the matter Mr. Bilbo, has something happened?"

"It may be easier to show you. Would you accompany me just down the road for a few moments?"

The older hobbit nodded quickly, "Let me just put a coat on, it is rather nippy out tonight."

Bilbo agreed and soon the pair walked the few hundred yards down the path to where Bilbo had left the unconscious figure in the road.

Gaffer made a sound of surprise when he too saw the girl, "Well I never! What is wrong with her?"

"I don't know Gaffer." Bilbo sighed, "I found her and I wasn't sure what to do with her or how to move her."

"She isn't…dead." Gaffer asked in a low voice.

Bilbo shook his head, "She still breaths and is warm. What should I do with her?"

Gaffer rubbed his forehead, "I don't know Mr. Bilbo. If you want to move her to Bag End I am sure we can manage that."

"Well." Bilbo sighed, "We can't leave her out here. She will freeze to death. But how do we move her?"

Gaffer tilted his head before looking back to his house, "Give me a minute?" He said before trotting off back down the road. He returned a few minutes later pushing his largest wheelbarrow in front of him.

"If we push her in this it may be easier. I spoke to the Missus who said she would come and help, she has just run to Bag End to set up a bedroom."

Bilbo sighed with relief, "Thank you Gaffer, between you and your wife I would be lost."

The gardener laughed before he looked between the girl and the wheelbarrow, "Now how should we do this?"

It took them a few minutes of huffing and, at one point, accidentally dropping the girl on the ground in a very irreverent manner to push her onto the wheelbarrow before the pair pushed her the short distance up the hill. By the time they got to the gate of Bag End, Bell Gamgee stood at the door, drying her hands on a hand-towel; seeing the pair she came down the steps,

"Is she alright?" She asked inspecting the girl, "She is rather young, I wonder how she got here."

"I don't think we will know that until she comes too. Maybe some smelling salts will help." Bilbo replied, "If we take her in the back gate then we can take her in through the back door to the smial and not have to carry her up those stairs." He finished as he looked up the short flight of steps that separated the small group from his lovely green front door.

Two minutes later and into the backdoor of Bag End, rolled a wheelbarrow bearing the raven haired Big Person. Bell was quick to open the bedroom into the room with the largest bed that, whilst not made for a Big Person, would at least fit her 5 foot 2 figure better than some of the other beds. Pushing the wheelbarrow alongside the bed the trio rolled her onto the quilt before studying her in the better light of the smial. In the light it was obvious she was young, scarcely of age, she was pale against the white linen pillow but not in an unhealthy way. Her most obvious feature was the scar that marred her forehead and was only visible through the fringe that had parted during the journey.

Bell broke the silence as she gently pulled a blanket over the girl and tucked her hair behind her ear, "She is rather pretty although her clothes are rather unusual."

Bilbo realised with a start that the girl was wearing a pair of trousers of all things in a rather odd faded blue material, her top was a striped yellow and red jumper decorated with a crest of some sorts on the chest. Bilbo studied the former carefully, he needed to check his books to see who the crest belonged to, perhaps the girl was a member of the household who had got separated from her companions?

"If you two leave," Bell stated, "I shall examine her and check she is alright?"

Bilbo nodded, "I will go and put the kettle on, I need some tea. You will join me won't you Mr Gamgee? It is only fair as I have dragged you from your fireplace."

* * *

It would take three cups of tea and a slice and a half of his Aunt Rosa's seed cake to calm down. Once Bell had checked over the girl and pronounced her completely fine, he had relaxed a little bit before he realised once more, that he had a Big Person unconscious in his best spare bedroom.

He sighed in minor horror, his reputation was going to go down the drain faster than he could ever imagine. Oh and he had tried so hard to cultivate his image.

* * *

The girl woke eight hours later. The hobbit couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or not that he was present in the room when his house guest awoke.

"AHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHHHH" Bilbo yelled back, unsure why he was yelling or indeed why she was yelling.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH...WHERE AM I?"

"THE SHIRE."

"WHERE IS THAT?"

"ERIADOR!"

"WHERE IS THAT?"

"MIDDLE EARTH?"

Lyra decided to stop yelling. Her head hurt and she was struggling with information overload. Death had sent her to a different dimension! The utter bastard. Although, she had been asking for it. However, Lyra turned to the creature standing in front of her. He was small, very small. He looked human but was only three and a half foot tall and was not wearing any shoes. Why on earth were his feet bigger than hers and covered in hair? The little man was clutching a book to his chest and sitting in a chair beside the bed, likely waiting for his guest to awoke. She supposed he was rather cute, all bronze curls and big blue eyes, but cute in a definitely-never-going-to-happen-way.

"What are you?"

For some reason this seemed to irritate the little creature a great deal. For he huffed as though she had just called his mother a hamster and said his father smelt of elderberries.

"I am a hobbit, I will have you know."

"What is that?"

It was the start of a great relationship.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: _Attacks in the Dark_**

The Shire Lyra decided was a strange place and the hobbits even more. It was a good thing she was rather small herself, at 5 ft 2 otherwise she would have felt even more like some sort of giant.

As far as she could work out, the hobbits were a cheerful people who took their enjoyment from food and drink. Naturally, this meant parties and a love of gardening to supply their large appetites. The thing that Lyra enjoyed most in her first few days in the Shire, was Bilbo's gorgeous smial. Everything about it screamed that it was a home, from the scattered maps and books through to the whimsical pieces of furniture that filled it. Whilst it was underground, it was in no way damp nor muddy, instead it was filled with fresh air and the scent of the last of the autumn roses that climbed around the windows.

Her host, Bilbo, was a rather fussy little man who had a heart of gold. Much to his obvious surprise, he had decided he rather liked her, Lyra wasn't sure whether this was due to her appreciation for his map collection or her introduction of Treacle Tart to his repertoire of recipes. Either way, Lyra herself, was growing more and more fond of the little hobbit and between them they had fallen into a tentative routine.

In the mornings, Bilbo would ply her with first breakfast. Then, he would settle down with a cup of tea to plan his day whilst she read from his large collection of Middle Earth histories. After a second breakfast (that Lyra tried to excuse herself but inevitably found herself eating), the pair would go out. It had amused the human girl immensely, the fussiness of her companion who insisted on changing before he went out even to the market as he could not be seen without his smart waistcoat, new handkerchief in his pocket or freshly groomed beards on his feet. After they returned for lunch, Bilbo had what he termed 'quiet time', which was either a nap or a half hour writing. The rest of the afternoon would be spent idyllically preparing the substantial garden for winter or Bilbo would attend to his affairs. In Lyra's experience, it was wonderfully domestic and quite unlike the life she had previously lived. She had already claimed a chair in the sitting room, it was a rather big armchair that Bilbo said was normally reserved for his more rotund neighbours, but it fit her small frame perfectly. Lyra could oft be found curled up in it with a book or map, studying her new world and occasionally entertaining Bilbo with stories of her world.

Along with Bilbo came his Took relatives. From what her housemate had told her about hobbits, each family had expected characteristics and the Tooks' were the most adventurous and proactive in their search for an interesting life. It therefore made sense that they would be among the first, other than the Gamgees', to come to visit. In many respects, the Tooks' reminded her of Gryffindors, after all they were rather strong headed and rambunctious, particularly the younger generation. Within a week of her arrival, Lyra had met twelve cousins of Bilbo; once she had commented to her host on this rather large number, she received a raised eyebrow and was informed that he, in fact, had over thirty first cousins and his mother was one of twelve siblings.

If the Tooks were Gryffindors then the Sackville-Baggins were far closer to some of the Slytherins she was acquainted with. Lobelia had certainly a sneer to rival Draco Malfoy's whilst her husband had all the facial expressions of Goyle. She definitely not fond of the pair and made subtle attempts to inform them of this, much to Bilbo's bemused amusement. The Gamgees were definitely Hufflepuffs and she loved them for it. They were the loveliest people (other than Bilbo) in the Shire and once they had decided that Lyra was not going to kill Bilbo with an axe they became rather fond of her.

* * *

The attack came just a month after her arrival in the Shire. A fortnight after her appearance, it had started to snow and hadn't really warmed up since, instead the temperature had dropped steadily, all around the Shire larders were packed to the rafters and families huddled closer every evening. Once more the rivers were about to freeze over and with the ice came a pack of wolves. This time though, the hobbits were slightly more prepared and certainly warier. As soon as it seemed likely that the river would freeze in the next few days, those from the outlying communities, such as Stock and the Marish travelled closer to Hobbiton. The largest community to move was that of Buckland. They had suffered the worst in the previous attacks as they were hemmed in by the river on one side and the Old Forest on the other. While they were not traditionally part of the Shire and were certainly not as naïve as their western relations, they were still hobbits. Over a quarter of their population had died in the previous Fell Winter. Therefore, they had elected to evacuate over the Brandywine Bridge as soon as the risk of another repeat was deemed likely. As soon as the last hobbit crossed over the wooden bridge it was dismantled, leaving only the supports visible in the slowly solidifying water. Already, wolves had been spied pacing through the empty Bucklebury, waiting for the ice to freeze enough to allow them access to the main lands of the Shire.

Lyra had read about the winter of 2911 and had almost wept when she realised the effect it had had on Bilbo and his community. Now it would seem, that she would see the horrors of war; she was almost unsure of whether that was the word to use as, after all, the hobbits had little defence other than a group of Bounders who were more used to vegetable thieves that wolves and were armed with damaged and old weapons. With a sigh she turned to her room and, unlocked the trunk Death had provided her with. She had to admit, he had done well packing her things up, although if he had packed her two house elves she would have been ecstatic. She often wondered what had happened to her faithful little friends, she was sure one of her friends would have taken them in and cared for them in her absence although that did little to fully assuage her guilt. Shaking her head to rid herself of those unhelpful thoughts she pulled out her dragon hide protective gear and the sword of Gryffindor.

Lyra knew that if something was not done then the hobbits would suffer once more. Leaving Bag End, Lyra turned down towards Hobbiton, knowing that was where the hobbits had gathered to make their preparations.

Ten minutes later and she turned into the market place and saw a group of hobbits gathered under the, rather ironically named at present, Party Tree. Seeing Bilbo hovering at the edge of the cluster, his hands wrung together in nervousness, she approached him.

"Bilbo?"

The little hobbit started at the soft calling of his name, but he did not look away from the rest of the hobbits "I would say good afternoon, but I fear that would be an unreasonable greeting at this time, Lyra."

"It'll be fine Bilbo." Lyra said softly, her hand reaching out to touch her companion's shoulder, "I think I may be of some use."

Bilbo looked at up this and looked at her dragon hide outfit and the rather large sword at her hip, "Lyra?"

"This isn't the first time that something like this has happened to me. Now, why don't you introduce me to whoever it is organising this shindig and see what I can do?"

Bilbo looked at her with wide eyes for a minute, "My grandfather, the Thain, is in charge of the Bounders?"

"Well, then he sounds perfect. Lead the way, my good man!"

A few minutes later and Lyra was introduced by a still bewildered and terrified Bilbo to his grandfather, Old Took.

"I hope that sword is for more than show?" The Thain asked, his eyes heavy with concern for his people.

"I should hope so. Now, I can help you a lot. But I need to know your plans and I need to know what you are wanting to do."

Old Took sighed and rubbed his forehead, "I don't know, many have panicked and fled to their smials already, which I can't exactly blame them for, but it means I have little idea of where everyone is. I had been hoping to organise it a little more."

The witch frowned, "That is a little bit of a problem. Is everyone out of the outlying villages?"

"They should be, those that needed to have been taken to the Michel Delving or Hobbiton. Why?"

Lyra frowned, "I am going to see whether I can destroy the build up of ice on the river at the moment, that may stop it refreezing tonight and give us more time. If not, I shall do my best to hold them off."

The Old Took looked up at the girl with one eyebrow raised, "I notice the copious use of the word, 'I', in that sentence. I hope that you do not mean to attempt to protect the entire Shire by yourself?"

Lyra frowned, considering whether or not she should tell them about her magic. Eventually deciding that they deserved to know, she pulled out the Elder Wand.

"I have told you that I did not come from this world and you have accepted that, so I hope you can accept this. I am not of the race of man, in my world I am what is called a witch. I shall try to protect the Shire to the best of my abilities."

Bilbo gasped, "You have magic?"

"Yes, my dear little friend, I do." With that Lyra flicked her wand, "Expecto patronum". Out of the tip of her wand burst her patronus, as it trotted carefully around, the hobbits turned to stare at it. One particularly brave Took cousin tentatively touched it and gasped at the feeling of sheer happiness that filled him.

Turning to Lyra he asked in confusion, "It feels so good. What is it?"

Lyra smiled gently, "He is called Prongs and is a patronus. It is magical concentration of happiness and hope. A patronus protects us and can be used to send messages."

As she has spoken, some of the other hobbits had, in turn, gently touched the silver stag who stood now, looking around him proudly.

"Thain Took, I shall try to destroy the ice build up with my magic and if that fails, destroy the wolves. If I am overcome, I shall send Prongs to you to warn you so you can get to safety. Is there someone else you can trust to help if need be who I can send a message to?"

The old hobbit gaped at her for a few seconds more, "Gandalf? He has magic like you, he is a wizard. You will send him a message if needed?"

"Exactly. Although, I hope it won't come to that. I will do my best." With that Lyra tucked her wand into the holster on her arm and, after hugging Bilbo and promising to return to teach him how to make lemon meringue pie, walked with purpose down towards the river and the wolves.

Her plan was basic enough, to use her magic to destroy as much of the ice as she could, thus preventing the wolves from crossing the ice at all, let alone reaching Hobbiton. However, she knew the river was wide and the ice likely thick so it would take time. Time which at present was rather valuable.

An hour later she reached the banks of the Baranduin River that divided the Shire at the west from the Brandywine region. It was still only four in the afternoon but it was below freezing and the darkness already slowly descending. Lyra frowned as she surveyed the banks of the river. Thick pack ice covered the river in parts and she was certain that the only reason the wolves had not crossed was because of the daylight. Biting her lip, the girl looked around, the struts that had supported the Brandywine Bridge had the strongest ice around them, not only was the river relatively calm there, it also had wooden posts in the middle of the river, around which the ice had built.

Lyra rubbed her hand against her face slightly with a sigh as she summoned the Elder Wand from its holster. It materialised instantly in her hand, seeming to hum pleasantly at being used again so soon.

"No need to be smug." Lyra muttered to it before she flicked it towards the ice. "Bombarda!"

The spell hit the middle of the ice and caused an explosion that caused cracks in the ice up to ten metres away. But no sign of water nor huge rifts in the ice. According to Bilbo, the ice never froze completely, the current was too strong. Therefore, the ice could be two feet deep but there was still water underneath, water that would prove useful.

Lyra growled, "Bombarda!"

Again nothing seemed to happen although there was a rather large lump of ice in the middle of the river that seemed to be loose.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Lyra spelled as she pointed at the lump of ice. She had come far from levitating feathers and the block of ice that was almost a metre and a half squared rose from the river.

The witch mentally swore, it was much thicker ice than she had expected. To clear the entire length of the river would take weeks rather than hours. Nor could she ward the entire river bank as she could not create and place ward stones that quickly. Levitating the block of ice higher Lyra dropped it, leaving it to smash onto the river ice cracking more as it broke into thousands of fragments. Anger combined with worry for her little friends caused Lyra to release a series of explosive spells, each more powerful than the next. Seamus would have been very impressed she was certain as the cracks in the ice spread out like a huge spider web at least fifty metres along the river course.

Thinking quickly, she remembered a spell theory that the Death Eater, Rowle had created. It was a rather ingenious one about combining spells; he had used it rather effectively in her sixth year on Hagrid's hut when he combined a Bombarda curse with a Fire curse. With a rather malicious grin, Lyra channelled the two spells together, the result was rather impressive even if she said so herself. She was rather glad that the hobbits had evacuated the surrounding areas as there were a few blocks of ice that went flying in all directions, she winced slightly as a large lump destroyed a large bow of an apple tree in a nearby garden. However, what heartened her more than her destructive abilities was the fact that there was a definite splosh at some point. A splosh meant water rather than ice.

Spying a few more loose sections of ice, Lyra levitated them up into the air and flung them onto the far bank, they could form a makeshift wall and stop the wolves crossing the river. Her plan seemed to have a rather visible impact as there was a stretch in the middle of the river devoid of ice around ten meters long and three meters wide. Moreover, there was something akin to a moat in the ice that was a definite bonus.

An hour later and Lyra was still working away. She had worked her way south towards the settlement of Marish. South of there was an area that could not freeze over due to a sudden widening of the river. However, north of the Brandywine Bridge was still blocked with ice. This had been a strategic choice, Lyra realised she had little help of stopping the wolves crossing in both the south and north and so had chosen to stop the ice build-up in the south as Marish was so very close to the river. North of the Brandywine Bridge, there were fewer settlements near the river and the geography was rather good for her to be on the defence. To the north of the Brandywine Bridge on the east bank was an area of flood plains, it was flat enough to allow her to attack with magic without fear of being cornered against anything. Moreover, her back would be against the Bridgefields, a rather dense wood that would not invite any wolves into it. North of the Bridgefields was not at risk, the river experiencing a small waterfall around the Girdley Island that prevented the water freezing.

Looking around, Lyra realised how dark it had become as she had worked. Night was definitely coming and with it came wolves.

It took Lyra another half hour to get back to the Brandywine Bridge site but by the time she did get back she had thought of another defence mechanism. Fire was surely likely to terrify the wolves. It would also allow her to see, for while she was certain the wolves could see in the ever-nearing dark, she could certainly not see them. Taking advantage of the time she had, Lyra started breaking up the ice north of the bridge. The ice she removed she piled on the east of the river. Remembering the lessons of that wonderful film 300, Lyra tried to create a wall to funnel the wolves into a small space to allow her to hold her position. She had tried her best to create a solid wall running from the Brandywine Bridge all the way south to the end of the ice, leaving the north for her to defend.

By now it was definitely completely dark and well below freezing. Lyra was very glad her dragon hide clothes were spelled to high heaven and included warming charms as she was certain she would otherwise be unconscious and of no use to anyone, except perhaps as an appetiser to some wolf or other. Other than the wolves of course. Now it was a waiting game. And so she sat on a log in the dark listening intently for any noise of an attack. She knew she could not light everything up yet, she wanted the wolves culled- not frightened away only to return in a couple of days.

The first sound of an attack she had was when a large series of cracking was heard followed by a yelp and a splash. It was past eleven in the evening. Instantly on guard, Lyra stood from her log and glared into the darkness trying to discern the outline of wolves. The silence that followed the splashing and yelps did not help Lyra's nerves and she shot a large firework spell into the air. The light that lit up the area above Brandywine revealed for an instant a rather large lone wolf standing on the far bank watching her. With a snarl similar to those she hunted, Lyra threw spells either side of her, causing fires to spring up, all the way down the east bank of the river. The eerie light threw shadows everywhere but at least allowed her to see. Their blue flames rose up over three metres tall, fuelled by her blood rage. The only way to Hobbiton and its inhabitants now lay in the five-metre space on either side of her. These ten metres she would certainly be defending with all she could.

The wolf, who had seen his fellow fall through the ice, was not to be denied though and slunk across the ice towards her. It did not fall and by the time it was half way across the ice, it was charging at Lyra. Pulling out the sword of Gryffindor, the witch met the wolf, stabbing it in its underbelly as it leapt to maul her. It was dead before it had taken a step onto the west bank of the Brandywine.

Lyra was not going to leave the wolf as a trip hazard and dismissively levitated the corpse well behind her. By the end of this she wanted a nice fur cloak, thank you very much. Narcissa Malfoy had always had one she was rather jealous of that looked so warm, Lyra was certain she could recreate it. Her plans for the perfect cloak were disrupted as she heard several snarls erupt from the far bank. Looking back, she saw eight wolves advancing out of the darkness, their eyes trained on her. With a sigh, the witch turned back to the fray.

* * *

Four hours later and the pile of wolf corpses behind her was substantial and there had seemed to be a lull in the attack. Lyra had no idea whether this was due to the fact that the rest of pack had retreated or were waiting on the far bank. But she was certain though that she had not destroyed the pack completely. Wolf packs in Earth tended to be of around twenty, while hyena clans though could be of over eighty. What's more, the packs here were completely natural and only regulated by local populations rather than modern life and weapons. She could not risk underestimating the pack numbers, it could spell death for many.

It soon became clear why the wolves had paused their attack. They were not the only enemies across the water. She had read about orcs in Bilbo's books but a description could not compare to the actual sight of one. It prowled along the edge of the ice, its yellow eyes fixed on her with a type of malice that made her shiver. It snarled something at her in a language as guttural and evil as any she could imagine. She hated the idea of one of her little hobbits facing one, let alone a whole pack. So disturbed was she that Lyra drew her wand and shot a _Sectumsempra_ Curse at the creature. It fell, its black blood visible even from across the river as it spread out across the snow.

When half an hour later, nothing else had emerged from the darkness across the river, Lyra grew antsy. A change of tactics was necessary, if they wouldn't come to her, then she would come to them. This was something Lyra had prepared for, she had known it was a possibility. With a flick of her wand, the gap in the flames was filled by more flames, forming an almost impregnable barrier between the river and the Shire beyond.

 _"Cave Inimicum."_ She intoned. It was a spell she had not used in a while but one that had kept the Golden Trio alive when they were on the run in their tent. It was similar to the Caterwauling Charm and would warn Lyra if any enemy managed to cross the flames.

Grabbing her sword in her right hand and tucking her wand back into her holster, Lyra started to cross the river. Her weight was nothing compared to that of a warg and the fracture ice held although there were a few moments when the cracking noise beneath her feet made her shiver in anticipation of the freezing water that ran below. She was so grateful at this point that the soles of her boots were charmed to stop her slipping on the ice, it was actually a rather common spell at Hogwarts as the courtyards had a tendency to end up ice rinks, whether through a prank or the Scottish winter weather.

She had barely stepped onto the east bank of the Baranduin when an orc charged, leaping through the darkness, holding a rough axe above its head. Within an instant, Lyra realised her mistake.

Her eyes were accustomed to the light on the west bank and she was now almost fighting blind. Sheer dumb luck meant the sword of Gryffindor had nicked the arm of the orc as she had raised it to parry. The venom of the basilisk was as potent as ever and before she had to swing the sword to defend again, the orc was dead at her feet. But she had learned from her mistake and within twenty seconds, two large bonfires lit up the area.

Almost immediately, she was under attack again, more orcs who met their deaths one at a time by the sword. Lyra had decided early on to avoid using her magic obviously to prevent escapees telling others of her full powers. Using her magic to break up the ice was one thing, but using the Killing Curse and then letting half a dozen orcs escape was a completely different thing. Stepping clear of the bodies, Lyra continued on.

By dawn, it was clear there was no near end in sight. And the wolves and orcs had been joined by wargs. Of the three, it was these latter that scared Lyra the most. They were huge, malevolent and intelligent to a level she had not expected. If she had not been wearing her dragon hide armour, Lyra would have been dead a dozen times over. She had taken up a defensive position, with her back to a bonfire, protecting her back and preventing her from being drawn too far from the river. If she was surrounded she was dead… or as dead as Death would allow.

Something she had noticed out of the corner of her eye though as the sun had started to rise was her wall of fire on the west bank had had a rather positive effect in more than one way. The heat of the flames had been such that it had melted a path all the way down that side of the river, allowing the water to move freely and fast downstream. Even now, large lumps of ice were being carried downstream, widening the channel and lessening the danger of anything being able to cross.

But Lyra was exhausted. She had sustained nearly ten miles of flames along the river bank and fought off an attack. If she had not possessed the Hallows, she knew that she would have died from magical exhaustion hours ago. But still the orcs and wargs kept coming. They seemed to have realised they had no chance of getting into the Shire, instead they seemed far more concerned with killing its only defender and getting their revenge that way.

Lyra ducked suddenly, causing a warg to miss her and instead leap into the flames, the smell of burning flesh combined with pained howls were horrifying and Lyra had to forcibly block it out to avoid being distracted by the sickening sight. Spinning suddenly and raising her sword she sliced the arm off an orc while ducking again to avoid the crude metal weapon of another. When would this end? With a glance behind her at the river channel which was now four metres wide, Lyra made a decision and cut of the magic that fuelled the wall of flames, it burned for a few seconds more before slowly extinguishing due to the lack of fuel. The difference in her magic levels this made was incredible and the Mistress of Death could only hope she had not made a stupid decision.

It was clear the orcs and wargs had noticed the flames dying down too as several immediately headed for the river. None made it across. The fast-flowing water had undercut much of the ice and as soon as they got more than five metres across the river, they fell in and were carried away. Lyra however, could not see this as she was still fending off her attackers, she could only hope that the charm she had placed on the west bank would hold to warn her if any did make it across. The ground she fought on had become slick with blood and corpses, it made fighting much harder as she was constantly about to trip over something. Thank Death she had the sword of Gryffindor, she did not have to worry about killing the bastards, even a small wound and they would be dead in minutes.

As quickly as they came, they were gone. Lyra by this point was so exhausted, she didn't know whether they had retreated or they were all just dead. But by this point, she didn't care. She was more concerned about the fact she was about to collapse and was stranded on the east bank. She needed to cross the river and quickly. Pulling her wand out, Lyra pointed it at her boots and levitated them, and thereby herself, across the river. It was a trick she had learned from a book about the original creator of the charm who once removed all his clothes in an effort to make himself fly. Her landing was not gracious at all but she couldn't care less. With a yawn, Lyra summoned Prongs to her and whispered to him the message to deliver to the hobbits.

"Hello all. I am still alive and no one bad crossed the river. Wolves, orcs and wargs were all spotted. I am going to stick around here for a little while longer to keep watch. I will see you all soon!"

As the silver stag darted away to the west, Lyra stumbled over to a log and transfigured it into a purple squishy sleeping bag and curled up asleep by the river bank to recover for a few hours.

* * *

The second night still held uninvited visitors but these were clearly stragglers and the sight and noise of the river clearly stopped many. However, Lyra once more crossed the river to destroy them. By dawn there had been none for several hours and the river was almost completely free of ice. While it was still freezing, the water was simply moving too fast for it to freeze. As she stood once more on the west bank of the river, Lyra surveyed the devastation. She had piled the corpses high on both sides of the river and left them, apart from anything else, it would serve as a warning to any others.

The two fires on the east side of the river had long since died down, leaving scorch marks in the ground but they did not compare to the band of blackened earth that stretched the length of the western bank where her wall of fire had sat, it was made more obvious by the band of earth that was visible on either side of the scorched earth, the fire having melted a substantial channel of snow. Lyra was almost proud of it, it would be a reminder of the magic she had achieved.

Sniffing slightly, the witch turned to the more unpleasant task. She had found a warg that had had a rather beautiful grey fur that would suit her purpose perfectly. It had always amazed her how the dark curses of her world tended to have their origins in perfectly mundane and practical spells. The Killing Curse was originally a spell used to humanely kill animals for the table, the Cutting Curse was used to cut plants while the Skin Removal Curse that was a popular torture curse within certain circles was used to skin animals.

Ten seconds later, Lyra vanished the corpse of the warg away and shot a dozen or so cleaning charms at the fur. It still had the head and paws which slightly freaked her out so she carefully rolled it and, tucking it under her arm, started the walk back to Hobbiton.

* * *

By the time she got there she was so exhausted she practically tripped over the first hobbit she saw. The poor Took cousin had let loose a rather feminine squeak as he saw the state she was in and promptly screamed for help. Lyra had completely forgotten to clean the blood and gore off of herself and so had wandered into Hobbiton with blood covering her nearly from head to toe. The scream had drawn a crowd of hobbits from the smials. They had stood staring at the woman standing in armour and dripping blood for a few seconds before rushing towards her.

One Took had rather optimistically called out, "Come on Lyra, party time!"

He had promptly been hit by Bilbo who, along with his grandfather, started to organise Lyra's swift removal to bed.

It took six hobbits to partially haul and partially support Lyra up the hill to Bag End. Bilbo had run on ahead, opened every door, pulled down the coverlet and, most importantly, summoned Bell Gamgee.

The latter, when she had seen the state of her new friend, had glared at the hobbits who had helped her in. "You lot out. I need to help Lyra out of these clothes and I can't do that with you lot standing around here like mathoms."

Old Took laughed slightly, relieved he did not have to bury anyone, "We shall talk in the morning Lyra."

"Maybe not the morning." Lyra muttered. "I plan on becoming one with this bed for at least twenty-four hours."

She would sleep for thirty-eight hours without even turning over.

* * *

Lyra was wakened from her slumber by a rather familiar voice,

"Missie Lyra?"

"Mmmm?"

"Missie Lyra?"

"Dobby?" By this point, Lyra was well awake, "What're you doing here? How did you get here?"

Dobby pulled his ear, "Kreacher and I don't be knowing, Missie. We were looking for you at home when suddenly we was here."

"Huh..."

Dobby was not impressed with his mistress' reaction, or lack of, "Why is you doing this to poor, poor Dobby and Kreacher? Vanishing without a trace..."

Kreacher was keen to get involved in berating her too, "Kreacher even visited Miss Muggleborn and her pet Weasley looking for you. Not that they were any help to poor Kreacher and Dobby. Said you were dead but Dobby and Kreacher could feel their mistress and knew not to abandon her. Stupid Miss Muggleborn said..."

Whatever rude thing Kreacher was going to stay was cut off as Lyra enveloped then both into a huge hug.

As she did so, she heard a familiar voice ring through her head, _"Those are two very determined elves you have. As a reward for saving the hobbits, I have brought them to you."_

Lyra shivered slightly at the feeling of the voice, _"Thank you Death."_

 _"It is Mandos here."_ The voice chuckled. " _I shall come and speak some more soon."_

* * *

 **Chapter 5:** _ **Hobbits and House Elves**_

Within fifteen minutes, Lyra realised that she had either made a very big mistake or a catastrophic mistake. It was clear that Kreacher and Dobby initially had absolutely no clue what to make of hobbits and the hobbit had even less clue.

It had taken Bilbo a good five minutes to realise that these two wrinkly creatures in front of him were indeed a form of elves. That hadn't really surprised her, after all she had read the books that sat in his sitting room, describing elves as 'ethereal', 'beautiful', 'elegant' and 'fair ones'. These were not words she would really use to describe her family retainers. Once Bilbo had been convinced that Dobby and Kreacher were indeed real he was no less suspicious. What really hadn't been a help was the fact that the two house elves had been in the middle of going through Bilbo's kitchens cupboards to examine his supplies when the smial's owner had entered the room to make first breakfast. She had tried to keep them out of the kitchen but it hadn't worked and the fact that the two house elves had been busy criticising the quality of the linen of his tea towels had not endeared them to him.

It was definitely not the introduction she had been hoping for. Five minutes ago, what had been happening in front of her at a height of four feet or so was a type of Mexican standoff. On one side was Bilbo, clutching his frying pan while on the other was Kreacher and Dobby carrying a teapot and teacup respectively. It was obvious that neither party had any idea what to do as the kettle was hanging behind Bilbo and the door to the pantry was behind the house elves, thus a stalemate that appeared unresolvable on its own.

That however, was five minutes ago. A lot had changed. Bilbo had decided that he rather liked the house elves when they had looked at Lyra whose stomach had rumbled from where she had been standing thinking of a way to resolve the situation without bloodshed. Dobby had promptly declared his mistress shouldn't be standing up after the day she had had before. Kreacher had then literally pushed Lyra into a chair while complaining she should have stayed in bed or at least had breakfast in bed. The fact that Lyra had not complained at the house elves ministrations had impressed the hobbit who had put the kettle on for Dobby and then pulled Dobby into the pantry to get his opinion on what to feed his house guest. Within two minutes the whole scene in the kitchen had changed.

"Kreacher?" Dobby had asked excitedly from his position beside Bilbo minding the bacon, "Did you hear what nice Mr Hobbit was saying?"

Kreacher sniffed slightly, he was not quite au fait with the situation (or the hobbit) yet, "No."

Dobby ignored his compatriot's tone and continued happily, "Hobbits have first breakfasts and second breakfasts and elevenses and luncheon and tea and supper and dinner all in one day."

The idea of preparing seven meals a day was something Kreacher was keen to get on board with, "Missie Lyra has you been eating all your seven meals a day?"

Lyra's attempt at an answer was interrupted by Bilbo who snorted, "I have to drag her to second breakfast and supper every day. It isn't healthy. Can you help me get her to eat more? She hasn't had any meals for two days and the day before that, she only had two!"

Kreacher suddenly decided that Bilbo was the type of friend that Lyra needed and deserved, even if he did need lessons in how to make her eat. The girl in question however was wishing that she did not have three creatures all of whom were under 4ft who were glaring at the pan of bacon and eggs trying to work out whether they needed to add some more or not. Suddenly the Mexican standoff of fifteen minutes ago didn't seem so bad.

* * *

The Shire was a society that pretty much run itself. There was a rather loose governmental system but as hobbits were a very peaceable race there was little need for silly things like councils, kings or armies in their view. At the core of their society were the familial clans, these included the Tooks, Baggins, Proudfoot, Browns, Whitfoot and the Hornblowers. Some families owned a great deal of the land in the Shire, renting it out to those of a lesser status. The families had held a great deal of power and, particularly for the heads of them, great status within the hobbit society.

The history of the hobbits very much ruled their present. Originally there were three types of hobbits, the Stoors, Harfoots and Fallohides, each group had traits that separated them. The Stoors, for instance, were far stronger and they lived around the river, actually swimming and sailing they could grow beards of all things. The Harfoots were perhaps far closer to dwarves than even the Stoors and frequently traded and communicate with them. The Fallohides were originally the smallest group, but they were the tallest type of hobbit and, rather like the Harfoots and the dwarves, had links to the elves. However, in the centuries since the settlement of the area by hobbits, these divisions had become less clear cut.

The Shire itself, was an area that was first settled by a pair of Fallohides who were later joined by others. It became an distinct area within the land of the hobbits and separated into four areas, North Farthing, East Farthing, South Farthing and West Farthing. The hobbits had three ruling figures. Firstly was the authority of the Master of Buckland which extended from the east of the river across the Brandywine into the Marish of the East Farthing, it was a title held by the Brandybuck family. This second was the Mayor of Michel Delving, an elected position for the large population of the town in West Farthing. The most powerful of all three however was the the Thain of the Shire itself.

At the start, it was the Oldbuck line who held the position, however, sometime in 2340 in the Third Age, the Tooks took over the position. Over time the Thain's role changed from a purely military position, to become a sort of formal ruler, dealing with disputes between various hobbits, the trade from outside the Shire and ceremonial events.

Gerontius Took had been Thain since 2848, and several times in his rule had had to call a meeting in the Great Smial for representatives of all the family clans in the Shire. The decision to hold a meeting had happened after Lyra had been safety tucked into her slightly-too-short bed in Bag End and after he, along with several others, had warily trekked down to the river. To the shock and awe of all, there was almost no ice in the river and piles of dead wargs, orcs and wolves on both banks. To a people who had lost so many only a few years ago, what had happened was along the lines of a gift from the Valar. They had lost no-one. Not a single soul.

Between the Mayor of Michel Delving, the Master of Buckland and the Thain they had made a decision. The hobbits owed a great deal to a girl who was lying in a smial in Hobbiton. It was a member of the Brandybucks who had said what had been in the minds of all, perhaps Lyra Potter was a gift from the Valar, sent to protect the hobbits from another catastrophe. It could not be denied, she appeared in the middle of the Shire with nary a disturbance just in time for the winter and she had protected them all. She was their very own Istari from a far off land. It had been decided there and then on the banks of the river where she had fought for them all, the hobbits would keep the young magic-wielder.

The meeting in the Great Smial had been going on for about an hour, arguments flying backwards and forwards since second breakfast. Old Took looked around the room with minor despair, it was almost elevenses and the meeting had achieved nothing, other than deciding that they wanted their protector to stay, of course. Around five hundred hobbits were in the Great Smial and others were milling around outside waiting for a decision. That many participants however did not make for easy discussions.

He sighed when a certain, recently married Sackville-Baggins yelled out "She is not a hobbit and has magic...I don't like her."

A voice from the crowd decided to retort, "You don't like anyone!"

"That is because no one likes her!" That statement, which definitely came from the Took corner once again, garnered a round of laughter, as Lobelia shrieked, that the Thain was quick to dispel.

"We are not here to argue about each other but the safety of the Shire. We have voted for the girl to stay and stay she will. But she has already said that she may well travel, can anyone think of any way to ensure Miss Potter stays here?"

There were various yells of 'free food for life', 'a nice smial', 'free beer' before the Thain took charge once more, "I think we need some other ideas now... that don't involve free food or beer."

Falco Took perked up from his position, lounging against a window seat, "I have a great idea!"

There were low groans as most of the hobbits had accepted long ago that a Tooks' concept of a 'great idea' generally was not good by hobbit standards and tended to result in everyone being late for dinner. Even the Tooks' groaned for, even by their own family standards, Falco lacked any practical sense whatsoever.

The hobbit in question was offended, "No, listen. Why don't we get her to sign a contract, she seems a decent person and I am sure would follow it? You know how the dwarves are with contracts, maybe she is like that? It is worth a try."

Isenbold Took, his brother, scoffed, "And how would we get her to sign it?"

"Well, we get her a little, little bit tipsy." Falco concluded with a flourish.

Old Took looked at his grandson with a rather queer look on his face, "So you want to get our guest and rescuer drunk and then make her sign a contract to become our protector?"

Falco looked to his Thain and paused, he wasn't quite sure whether he had had a great idea or was about to be torn apart by his grandfather, "...Yes?"

Old Took sighed, if this was one of his descendants then he feared for the future of his line and the Shire in general actually, "Does anyone else have any other ideas?" There was silence and the old hobbit shook his head for a second, "We may need to put an incentive in the contract, free food, or a title, or a house, or something of that ilk? Alright, alright, we shall sort that bit. Who has the strongest moonshine?"

Suddenly Old Took realised his mistake as members of every family jumped up, declaring their home-brewed spirit to be the best. Sighing and wondering why he ever said that, he signalled for quiet again.

"Right, as that cannot be decided, why don't we organise out yearly Moonshine Festival a few weeks earlier this year?"

This statement was followed by cheers throughout the Great Smial, although a voice piped out from somewhere at the back,

"Or we could just have two?".

This question gained the most enthusiastic response of the day as the hobbits dispersed to find their best moonshine.

* * *

"Miss Lyra?" The witch looked up from her walk up to Bag End to see two hobbits standing by the gate of Bilbo's house.

"Oh, hello Master Took, how can I help you?"

"We were heading off to the Green Dragon and were wondering if you would join us. We haven't seen you properly for a few days and there is a Moonshine brewing competition. Would you like to come help us judge?"

Lyra shrugged, she needed to get out of the house for a bit and another gentle stroll down to the inn sounded a nice break. She had been to a couple of these types of events in England, Little Whining had a flower show every year where flowers, sloe gin, jam and cheese were all judged by some nice public figure or other and everyone was given some sort of prize at the end. Surely a moonshine competition must be like that. "Sure, seems like fun."

It would take the Mistress of Death five hours of drinking and partying and eight hours of sleeping to work out the mistake she had just made. English flower shows were nothing like hobbit alcohol competitions.

* * *

When Lyra did awake it was to a headache that pounded through every corner of her skull, even her eyes hurt when closed and she did not even try to open them after her initial attempt. Trying to recall anything that happened last night didn't work. She remembered agreeing to go to the pub with one of the Took hobbits, and she remembered her first drink, then things got a little…hazy. Okay, a lot hazy. She remembered a game of some kind, some rather catchy songs to which she danced on their bar, something about a piece of paper, then more alcohol. Nope, Lyra was drawing a blank.

Without opening her eyes, Lyra called to Dobby and Kreacher who appeared with a ' _crack'_ before her, the sound alone caused her to curl up and pull the blankets over her head with a groan. Knowing what was ailing her, Dobby disappeared again, returning seconds later with a vial of hangover potion which he placed in the hand of his mistress that was waving from under the blankets in a pitiful manner. Yet to open her eyes or mouth, Lyra feared ending up sick or having to experience the world in her present state. Both house elves heard a hum of thanks as the contents of the vial were drunk. A few minutes later, Lyra emerged from her cocoon of blankets and pillows and opened her eyes and saw the two house elves looking at her rather smugly.

"Yes, alright, I know I got drunk to the point of memory loss but there is no reason to look so smug"

"Missie Lyra, we isn't smug about that."

"…Okay, what did I do whilst squiffy?" She asked, realising that she either did something embarrassing or had something embarrassing happen to her,

Dobby smiled up at her, "That a good question, Kreacher tell mistress what she did while drunk?"

Kreacher looked even smugger at that, "Missie Lyra, or should we call you Queenie now?"

"What does that even mean?" Lyra groaned, too done with life to deal with her house elves attempts to wind her up.

"Missie Lyra signed contract that the nice hobbits gave her. Missie now Queenie of the hobbits"

Silence followed silence, until...

"WHILE DRUNK I WAS PRESSGANGED INTO BECOMING QUEEN TO AN ENTIRE RACE OF PEOPLE?"

"No, you are Queenie"

"IS THERE A DIFFERENCE?"

"Hobbits don't have queens and kings, so you Queenie" Kreacher said with a cheerful (for him) smile. "Should I make breakfast for Her Majesty?"

"You two are way too happy about this… I need to go see the Thain, what will he think, I stole his people?" Lyra groaned as she made to throw the covers off her and dash to find the man.

"Mr Thain was there when you signed contract." Dobby answered happily, glad to see that his mistress was receiving the title and honour that she deserved. Nasty witches and wizards back in Britain didn't realise that his Missie Lyra was far above them all, the hobbits however, seemed to realise that.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…. What do I do?"

"Rule the little people?"

"Right, first law then…Unhelpful comments from you, Kreacher, are banned…"

"What should we name that law then?" Dobby asked, pulling a piece of paper and a quill out of mid-air with a flourish.

The only response he got was a muffled roar into a pillow by Lyra as she dragged the covers once more over her head.

* * *

 **This is, of course, set before the events of _The Hobbit,_ I am not really sure where the story is going to go from here but we shall just have to see. If you amazing people have any ideas for pairings or events you would like to see, please PM me.**

 **I made a 'mood board' of sorts when I started writing this. It is a collection of pictures that you may like to look at if you wanted to see where I took my inspiration for clothes, character descriptions or places. www. pinterest. co. uk/ finnie200/ (remove spaces). I shall likely update this as I go along.**

 **This is unbeated at the moment, so some changes may occur when I get that sorted!**


	2. Chapters 6-10

**Thank you everyone for your very kind comments about this story, I hope it meets expectations further on!**

 **I have tried to stick as closely to canon in terms of the history of Middle Earth, where it will not fit with the** **story or where I could not find anything, I have changed or created to suit.**

 **I was asked whether I mind people making fan art of this story, have at it... Just send me a link once you are done so I can admire!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the work of Tolkien or Rowling.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: A Very Hobbitish Coronation and Mandos' Visit**

It took ten minutes for Lyra to drag herself from her bed where she had been wallowing in her misery. Bag End was devoid of both hobbits and house elves by then, however she could hear music and cheers from somewhere down the hill. The open window that let the sounds in also showed Lyra the thick snow that still sat inches thick on the ground. The witch huffed slightly as she pulled on a dressing gown and ran a hand through her tangled hair. She was almost tempted to go down to her darling subjects as she was. However, she was certain that Kreacher would drag her back to put some proper clothes on if she did that; so, grumbling constantly, Lyra changed into a set of long robes that would keep her warm and preserve her modesty in the way the hobbits seemed to prefer.

When the witch strode into the festivities by the Party Tree in Hobbit silence slowly spread through the groups of hobbits who had been previously dancing, drinking, eating and talking. Similarly, the cheerful music dwindled off as everyone looked over to the girl, the only sound that remained were the pops and splutters of the fires dotted around the snowy area to warm the crowds. Although she was very determined, Lyra also felt rather awkward about the whole situation and quickly made her way over to Gerontius Took.

"Thain Took?" Lyra asked as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Care to explain exactly what happened last night?"

The witch was rather satisfied that the old hobbit at least had the decency to look rather ashamed.

He started to speak but paused, closed his mouth and rethought for a few seconds before trying again. "I will apologise for the methods...but not for the end result. We wanted you to stay and we feared that you might prefer to find your own kind and travel. So, we I am ashamed to say, took rather extreme methods." He laughed a little hysterically, "I am not sure you quite understand how grateful we are, if you hadn't been here, we would still be burying the dead now, three days on. We just wanted you to stay." He repeated as he fell silent, looking beyond Lyra to the Party Tree.

That all rather took the wind out of Lyra's sails and she sat on a nearby bench, "If you had asked me, I would have stayed. I have always, always wanted a proper home." She paused for a few seconds, "What does the contract entail?"

Bilbo spoke up from his place near her, "Not much. I am sorry I did not know the plans, I might have stopped them and tried to get them to try a different route. But the contract itself is rather simple. Just that you will stay with us, live with us and take the title of 'Queenie' as thanks for your help."

There was silence for a few moments, "Can I get out of it?" Lyra asked.

"... If you want to, we will not stop you. The contract is renewed every few years, we would not wish to bind you for life. We would not keep you forever. And you are free to leave for short periods of time of course, if you wish to see the rest of the world. But the Shire remains your home."

"Right." Lyra said, rubbing her face with her hands. When she looked back up from her lap it was to see a crowd of little tiny hobbits at her feet.

Fauntlings, Lyra decided, were the most impossibly cute things in existence, particularly when en masse. It was horrible.

Posie Baggins looked up at her with huge brown eyes and a wobbling lip that simultaneously made Lyra want to hug her and run away from her in fear, "So you don't want to stay with us?"

"I didn't say that..." Lyra muttered, trying to avoid looking at any of the tiny hobbits that were clinging to her legs.

"So, you do want to stay with us?"

By now many of the adult hobbits were smirking slightly, amused at Lyra's reaction to their young ones and her high-pitched exclamation of, "I didn't say that either!"

"Do you not like us then?" One of the Brown faulting asked, almost sobbing at the idea that his hero did not like him.

Lyra was quick to correct him, "Not at all! I love you all. And the Shire."

"I don't understand." Posie stated with all the bluntness of a child, "You like the Shire...you like us, don't you? Why don't you stay?"

Marmadas Brandybuck perked up, "Yeah. If you stay then we can have lots of fun together."

Lyra covered her face with her hands and moaned, "Alright you little monsters. I will stay for a year at least... and then we can have more discussions."

The fauntlings squealed with delight around her, hugging her knees and even pulling Dobby and Kreacher into hugs. The former took and returned the embraces with barely concealed delight, the latter huffed and moaned a little but ultimately gave in and returned a few, grumbling a little at them.

The elders were no less happy, but they were more restrained in their reactions. They had a year to persuade Lyra to stay and that wouldn't be a bad thing, the girl seemed to prefer the quiet life and the quiet life was all there really was in the Shire.

Sometimes it took the young ones to address questions that unasked by adults either due to propriety or because they were not considered.

Pimpernel Gamgee, who was busy sitting on his uncle's lap looked over at the Thain, "Mr Thain sir? Where is Lyra going to live now?"

There was a pause for a moment as everyone considered it. Hobbit holes came into two types, smials and burrows. The latter were much smaller, sometimes had only a couple of windows and tended to be for the poorer hobbit families. On the other smials were spacious, light and very comfortable but very rarely sold as there was inevitably a relative to claim one or they were rented out. The highest status and largest smial was the Great Smials of the Tooks at Tuckborough, they were some of the deepest and oldest smials with multiple tunnels. They were so large that many of the Took branches lived there in a large community. Brandy Hall, the home of the Brandybuck had one hundred and one windows.

As their new Queenie, Lyra needed a home to suit. If the Master of Buckland had Brandy Hall and the Thain had the Great Smails then the hobbit Queenie obviously needed something fitting. That basically meant building something new as it would be unthinkable to throw a family out of a smial.

Bilbo looked over to his grandfather, "I am perfectly happy for Lyra to live with me for the foreseeable future. Bag End is not a small smial, there is plenty of room for her and her companions for the moment."

Lyra, not knowing the hobbits plan to build her a new home befitting her status, stopped showing a group of tweens how to build an igloo. She liked living with Bilbo and she was used to it. "I am quite happy living with Bilbo, if he doesn't mind putting up with me."

After a few glances and nodding heads, it was agreed. Lyra would stay with Bilbo in Bag End until a time when something more permanent could be arranged. It was a good time too, as it was still winter there was no chance of building commencing for at least two months, so the hobbits had two months to find a location and materials.

Just as Lyra was finishing the first igloo, which was now full of laughing tweens playing, and was starting the foundations for another nearby she heard a hesitant voice, "Queenie?"

Lyra looked down to see a group of ten or twelve fauntlings standing awkwardly beside her. She knelt down in front of them and could see that Posie Baggins had her hands hidden behind her back and was looking rather hesitant. "Yes Posie?" She asked, trying to settle the little ones slightly.

"In all the fairy stories Mama and Papa read us, the queens have crowns." The little faunt stated, looking down at her hairy feet "We thought that since you are our Queenie you would need one too. But we don't really have crowns with gold and sparkly stones around here so we made one for you. We hope it is alright…"

Lyra was touched and when the aforementioned crown was not produced, she prodded further. "Am I allowed to see it?"

The group blushed and Posie practically threw the crown behind her back into Lyra's lap before running to hide behind her mother's legs. Lyra looked down, the crown was as typically hobbit as it was possible to be. As she had been warned, there was no gold or precious stones. Instead it was a crown of flowers and leaves and utterly hobbitish. She had been told about the crowns hobbits made during the other times of the year that were symbolic of the seasons, events or people who wore them. The base of the crown was made of thin branches of yew, threaded through it were sprigs of holly and mistletoe, interspersed with more red berries. Lyra beamed with delight as she looked at it. It was perfect. She had no wish for great crowns or tiaras as she had in the vaults of Gringotts, but this little flower crown befitted and represented her people and land as much as it suited her.

"Do I get to give a hug to you all?" She asked the embarrassed fauntlings, setting the crown aside on chair nearby.

Pimpernel was the first to come forward to claim his hug, he was the most used to Lyra as he was frequently running around his uncle, Gaffer Gamgee's home. By the time Lyra had grabbed the blonde-haired child into a hug, others had come forward and she gave each and every one a hug, whispering grateful and emotional thanks into their curls.

The crown still lay on the chair to Lyra's right. The Thain himself took it up, and with the Mayor of Michel Delving and the Master of Buckland on either side of him, he crowned a kneeling Lyra, Queenie of the Hobbits before her subjects.

The moment was slightly ruined though when said Queenie's stomach rumbled seconds after the solemn ceremony. As laughter and cheers spread throughout the assembled, Bilbo promptly pulled Lyra into a seat and plied her with a plate of stuffed pork loin. It didn't take long for one of the Proudfoots' to proclaim Lyra 'obviously a proper hobbit now'.

* * *

As promised Death, or Mandos as he preferred in Middle Earth arrived not half a day after she agreed to stay in the Shire. She was alone in Bag End at the time, the house elves were busy in the markets while Bilbo was having lunch with his aunt.

He had appeared behind her with no sound. She had turned around from stoking the fire to see the dark figure of Death behind her.

"Why can't you knock like a civilised person?" Lyra sputtered, trying to slow her heart and put down the tiny fire poker she had automatically picked up to defend herself with. It was obvious who this person was, the feeling of his power crept into every corner of the room, his omniscient and immortal eyes surveying her with an almost empty expression.

The being merely shrugged, and leant against a wall, his long pale hair strongly contrasting the dark cloak he wore. "One might say I am not a particularly civilised being." He stated, "Now, I promised to visit and visit I am. Do you have any questions?"

Lyra shook her head in exasperation, why did she have to deal with this now? A little warning may have been nice.

"I am afraid I don't really understand who you are, I mean, I know you are Death, but who are you in this world?"

Mandos seemed to shrug, "I am Mandos. Námo. The Ruler of the Dead. The Doomsman of the Valar. Ruler of the Halls of Mandos. And one of the three Masters of Spirits."

"Okay." Lyra stated, she had little idea what that meant or indeed where to progress further with her questions so just asked the first that popped into her head. "Why the Shire?"

"You always wanted a family and a home. You care not for the luxuries of life nor the glory of it, you want a quiet life. The Shire seemed the best place to provide that. While they are not immortal and will die themselves, I saw it as a happy medium. The elves are immortal but their life doesn't suit you at the moment...perhaps in a century or two you would suit their realms more. The dwarves love family but their lifestyle wouldn't be quite for you either, you are not the type to reside in a dark mountain for years on end. And men? Their lives are just too short and I am afraid I have little respect for the majority of them."

The Mistress of Death ignored the last comment, deciding to reflect further on it when she had more time on her hands. "So, you put me in the Shire because they could provide me what I haven't had before?"

"Exactly. You deserve a family and home... here you have an entire race to call family and an entire region to call home."

Lyra sat for a few minutes in contemplation, while she did not know much of the other parts of Middle Earth, she was grateful for Mandos' choice. Once she had gathered her thoughts she asked, "And the whole Queenie thing?"

The ancient being laughed, the sound as beautiful as it was terrifying. "A happy coincidence. I had expected that the hobbits would be less than enamoured with your magic one you had displayed it, they are not fond of strangeness's like that."

"So, I could have been run off the Shire with pitchforks for displaying it?"

"No, dear one. The hobbits do not tend to run people off with pitchforks, they can hold grudges that can drive people off but that is about it." Mandos chuckled, "But to have so many hobbits accept you to the extent they were prepared to proclaim you, 'queenie', that is unexpected. I had thought it would take far longer."

"Right. You expected them to make me their ruler?" Lyra's tone was a cross between petulant and disbelief.

Mandos shrugged. "It matters not really. You are this 'Queenie' now. I thought I would come to explain your position more... If you are interested of course?"

The challenge was clear and Lyra jumped at the chance to have more questions answered. "Of course!"

"When I brought you here, I did so with the permission of the one who created this world and the others who rule it with me. Eru. In this world, you are my creation. The Valar have each added something, some race or some idea to this world, Aulë his dwarves, Yavanna the Ents and likely the hobbits, although she will not admit it; Eru the men and elves; Melkor some of the more questionable inhabitants. But I have rarely contributed, only taken from it, the only exception being a reincarnated elf I sent back, though my role in that was rather minor. But I have now done something more. You are my representative."

"Well that is going to creep everyone out at parties." Lyra mused. "'Hello! I am Lyra Potter, Queenie of the Hobbits, Mistress of Death, Creation of Mandos and his Representative. Nice to meet you...!' That is going to get me thrown out of a few places."

The Vala chuckled but continued on as if she had not spoken, "Getting back to my point. I gained permission from Eru to add you, it would not do to interfere too much in a world he created without his permission. He agreed with some conditions."

"Oh?"

"There are only two for the moment and I do not feel that they will be too difficult for you. They are mainly to do with limiting your power. As you have seen, you are leagues beyond many of those who surround you at the moment and that may worry some. No apparating for you although your house elves can, however they cannot take anyone with them. And no portkeys either. Secondly, none of the unforgivable curses will work here. These limitations, of course, only apply here in Middle Earth, if you ever wish to move on to other realms and times these will be renegotiated."

Lyra thought on the conditions for a moment, they were understandable and they did not really affect her too badly. "I can agree to those."

"I was sure you could. However, there may well come a time when Eru and I will add more conditions. I know this will sound an odd statement but some things are supposed to happen a certain way and some things need to happen. And, at any rate, I am sure you will find a few ways around anything we say. Some imaginative thinking should do it."

"...Right." Lyra replied, wondering what event was so important it had to happen without her influence. "I read there were other wizards here. I didn't think they are like me, was I wrong?"

"No. The hobbits may well call you 'Istar' because that is the only word they have to describe you but you are not one of their Order. There are five wizards in Middle Earth. They were sent by a council of the Valar to assist the peoples of Middle Earth in their fight against the spawn of Morgoth. All take the form of old men; Olórin, Curumo, Aiwendil, Alatar and Pallando were Maiar spirits who heeded our call and volunteered to come to Middle Earth. They took on a multitude of other names to the peoples of Middle Earth and have travelled far and wide across it."

"Can I meet them?" Lyra asked interested in the possibility of there being even a few people similar to her around this unknown world.

Mandos' face twisted in thought, "You shall meet them when you need to. I would not seek them out."

"Why not?"

"I believe you should make yourself your chief concern, I believe you should be focusing on ensuring you are healthy and happy."

Lyra sighed knowing that the Death deity would not give a clearer answer than that at the moment. "Okay." She agreed, "I should say… Thank you. For sending me here? I know it is early days but I feel far happier here than my previous situation."

Mandos smiled, "You are welcome."

"Will I see you again?"

"The Valar are not supposed to visit Middle Earth in person. But, I thought you deserved a proper introduction to my form here in the safe confines of your new home. I may not be able to visit you often but you can visit me in the Halls of Mandos as much as you like, even if it is just because you need a break from your hobbits' and house elves' attempts to force feed you."

"… Right" Lyra replied and added sarcastically, "And these Halls, are they like two smials down on the left?"

"Not quite. Use the Stone and I shall temporarily take you into my Halls. There are people you may be interested in meeting."

Lyra thought about the small note in one of Bilbo's books about the Halls of Mandos, "Is it only elves slain in battle who reside there?"

"Yes, it is where I judge them and choose to have them reincarnated back into Middle Earth, move out into Valinor or condemn them to an eternal life within my Halls. The souls of all men reside in a different hall, not on Valinor. Once they are judged I move them on."

"And what happens to them?"

Mandos laughed loudly, "That, dear one, I shall tell you another time. I am the only one who holds that knowledge, not even Manwë knows."

"And dwarves?"

"Dwarves are slightly different, they were made by Aulë and it is to him that they return in his Halls in Mandos. While I judge whether they have led a suitable life, I do not do anything beyond. When time ends here and I leave this world forever, forsaking my position, names and Halls here at least, the dwarves will be given a place among the elves in Valinor."

"I am surprised you told me all this." Lyra commented, avoiding the topic of asking what happened to hobbits, she had no desire to know just yet.

"You are immortal. It is important you understand the future of each life for you to accept the fact that it will not happen to you."

Lyra nodded, "I can understand that."

"I can hear your host coming up the lane. I shall leave you be. I look forward to having you visit my Halls. Farewell."

Mandos did not wait for a reply and he vanished leaving no trace of his visit. Lyra turned once more to the fire and groaned when she saw it had almost burned itself out in the time she had been conversing with the Vala.

When Bilbo crashed into the house, covered from head to toe in snow, Lyra rushed to help him defrost the poor man.

"I didn't think it was snowing?" She asked as she unwound the scarf from the fellow and tugged gloves off frozen fingers.

Bilbo voice shook from the cold, "It was very sudden, I was just passing the Party Tree when it started. It's stopped now, thank the Valar, we don't need more snow!"

"Should I go and see whether everyone is alright?" She asked in concern, in the back of her mind she could not help but wonder if the snow had started when Mandos arrived in the smial and stopped when he left. Was his presence that chilling in the mortal world?

"Don't worry." Bilbo replied as he hobbled towards the fire in the sitting room, "It has stopped now so it should be fine. And if it is snowing then it is too warm for ice to freeze in the river. That is only a problem when the temperature gets so low that it does not even snow."

Lyra nodded and shot a warming and drying charm at the hobbit who sighed in relief as he almost melted into his chair, "There. That should make you feel a little better. Here is a blanket, I am going to put on the kettle and find some food, Dobby said he had left some pastries in the cupboard for us to have for tea. I am surprised they are not back actually."

Bilbo answer was called through the smial as she went to the kitchen, "I am sure they will be back soon. Perhaps they went to visit someone."

"I wouldn't put it past them. For all his grousing, Kreacher is very fond of children. He probably got distracted teaching them the games from our world. He was making some board game earlier."

While Lyra, nor any other member of the Shire would realise it quite yet, the sudden snow had quite a large impact. It covered up every scorch mark, blood stain and foot print from the battle, hiding the secrets of the Shire under inches of snow.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Verdicts**

Dobby liked the Shire. It really was very simple. He liked the hobbits, he liked the smials, he liked being with Lyra once more, he liked this Middle Earth…. There weren't many bad things about it so far. He and Kreacher shared Mr. Bilbo's smallest bedroom, the nice hobbit had tried to give them separate rooms but they had objected so vehemently that their host had given up and showed them to a small room that had two suitably sized beds in it and a large cupboard for the belongings they were sure to collect over the coming months. For two house elves who had grown up living in tiny cupboards, the treatment they had received from Lyra and Bilbo was still amazing.

Now of course, he was house elf to a Queenie. He had had to deal with his mistress screaming from her night terrors, struggling to leave the house without being stalked and not eating more than half a meal a day. But now, well now it all seemed much better.

Except for one rather small problem. The one problem that Dobby had with the Shire concerned the lack of a very specific thing or things. Socks.

Socks meant a lot to Dobby, Lucius Malfoy had inadvertently freed him with a sock, he spent his Hogwarts wages on socks and Lyra gave him socks for every Christmas and birthday. When he had been taken from his old world he came with no more than he was wearing which consisted of a nice clean pillow case and (as luck would have it) his favourite pair of socks, one that had broomsticks on it and the other that had snitches adorning it. His sock collection had been rather large before he left and had lived in a wooden crate beside his bed and arranged in order of his preferences. Now it was gone and the Shire had no other socks aside from Lyra's. Sure, there were hats and scarves but nothing compared to socks in Dobby's opinion at least.

However, he mused as he grated cheese for dinner, there were worse thing. He would far prefer to be with Lyra and only have one pair of socks than be without Lyra and have his forty-three pairs.

* * *

Kreacher was busy dusting his mistress' room and preparing it for the night, humming in a low tone. He was a rather happy house elf. Missie Lyra was finally getting the respect she deserved. It must be said that in the old elf's opinion, being Queenie of the hobbits was not the best Lyra could do, they had no magic and no vast empire so it was rather obvious they should stand in awe of his mistress. However, Kreacher firmly believed that soon more people of this Middle Earth would join the hobbits in their worship of Lyra. Perhaps it was a good thing, he mused, that she had started with a small kingdom, then she could grow it over time.

In his own way though, Kreacher was rather fond of the hobbits. They lived a peaceful existence that he could appreciate and they certainly had their priorities right: family, home and home. His favourite hobbit was Mr. Bilbo, closely followed by any one of the Gamgees'. The Tooks' seemed to cause lots of disturbances but he supposed that they were the Thains' of the Shire and therefore, did deserve some respect for their ancient lineage. He detested Lobelia Sackville-Baggins though, Mr. Bilbo had told Kreacher about how the woman tried to steal his heirlooms and home. It rather reminded him of Mundungus Fletcher and he had decided to keep a close eye on the woman whenever she showed up at Bag End, which was apparently once a week or so. There would be no chance any of their host's belongings were going missing again!

As he stoked the fire, Kreacher decided he was very content in the Shire. Unlike Dobby, Kreacher did not have many possessions to leave behind when he left, the only one that mattered, Master Reggie's locket, he had been wearing when he had left and so he still had it. He very much looked forward to the summer, apparently the Shire markets were always full, there were parties weekly and the gardens were beautiful. It all sounded idyllic.

Surely it would not be long before Lyra found herself a husband he thought. In her last world, she may have been a lady twice over and never lacking prospective husbands but here she was the Queenie of an entire race! And with husbands came babies. It would have to wait for a few more years he mused, Missie Lyra needed to finish healing and then he would think more on the subject of suitable husbands who could provide lots of babies for him to look after.

Surveying the room, he pulled the curtains shut, moved her slippers near the fire grate to warm for the evening and rummaged through her trunk for a book for her to read before she slept. Once he found one he thought was appropriate, Kreacher set it square on her bedside table and tucked a bookmark in the front cover for her to use later. Finally, he was sure everything was perfect and he left the room, making sure to close the door so no nasty drafts could chill the room and went to check on dinner preparations.

* * *

Bilbo Baggins sat in his chair a that evening looking around. His life had changed rather dramatically over the past month and he could say, without a doubt, he did not regret it at all. If there was one thing that Bilbo was certain he had done right in his relatively short life, it was to take an unconscious Big Person into his smial using a wheel barrow. She had saved his people from decimation. She was a wonderful person who had obviously had a difficult life that she did not deserve at all and Bilbo, along with many other hobbits, was determined to prove to Lyra that she could make a new home in the Shire and stay with them for as long as she wanted. He felt that her uncertainty about her position as Queenie was not due to the fear of being stuck in the Shire but rather overstaying her welcome, which was a very silly thing; if there was one thing hobbits prided themselves on, it was being the perfect hosts.

He did not mind Dobby or Kreacher either. While the latter was as temperamental as a dragon, he had his moments and the former was a happy and bouncy thing who was enthusiastic about everything. He had given each of them a selection of his hobbit clothes as he was so horrified to see them wearing his pillow cases, even if they were embroidered with her crest. Lyra had given him a quick lesson on the customs of house elves and so he had left the pile of clothes on their beds. They had been greatly offended at first but the warm woollen clothes were necessary in the cold weather. Eventually they had conceded but each had embroidered a large crest and an odd symbol on the chest. The crest was apparently that of Lyra while the odd triangular mark was the same as the tattoo the girl had on the back of her hand. He had also learned very quickly that he was not to hand clothes to Kreacher, Dobby was fine but Kreacher got very upset. However, in truth these were little things and Bilbo was quite prepared to learn about the house elves who meant so much to Lyra.

The one thing all three agreed on was food. The house elves referred to the Shire food as 'Oxfordshire style'. Apparently, this wasn't an insult as he had initially thought but more of an observation- lots of cake, bread, meat, potatoes, ale and tea. However, this did not mean the pair did not take over his kitchen for a couple of meals a day to introduce new foods to him, his favourite so far was something called 'Italian' but he had time for other types of cooking from the other world called 'French'.

He had also been introduced to something called puff pastry which was a total pain to make but the fluffy, flaky deliciousness was worth it. Pastry in the Shire was nearly always shortcrust, but this new way of making pastry with layer upon layer of butter appealed to every hobbit. Bilbo had already tried out sweet pastries called apple turnovers and croissants on his Took family members the last time he had visited his grandparents' home for tea. He had promptly been begged for the recipe by all present.

Hobbit culture placed quite a high value on recipes. Sharing recipes tended to be something done between wives and husbands, parents and children and siblings. Bilbo had made a point of explaining this to the two house elves who had listened intently. He did not want the pair to fall afoul of cultural misunderstandings, he was certain that if they were asked they would give over their recipes but that was just not how the Shire worked.

When he had listened, Kreacher promptly sniffed, "Well, if you is looking after Missie Lyra you will learn our recipes. We shall not share them with anyone and you shall not share them with anyone."

When Bilbo had told Lyra of this, slightly exasperated at the fact they did not understand, she had grinned wickedly at him, "Those two house elves do as they please. They want to show their gratitude to you for taking us in and looking after me but cannot do so by cooking every meal or doing all the chores as you want to do them. They will see sharing their recipes with you as a way of displaying their thanks. They are very determined; my advice? Just go with it."

The witch's advice was the only thing Bilbo felt able to do and so had watched and learned from the pair as they introduced all manner of new delights. Just this evening he had sat at his table with Lyra and was served a delicious meal that he was informed was called 'spaghetti carbonara' with a very interesting garlicy bread. And once it was all finished, the pair of elves had set his sponges to washing the plates and cutlery by themselves with their magic. Since they had come Bilbo was certain he had not washed a single dish or cup, one elf or other setting the sponges to wash them by themselves.

He also had the impression that the only reason he was allowed to cook was because he was the host and it was clear he enjoyed the whole process a great deal. If it wasn't for that, Bilbo believed all he would have to do in his own smial would be to turn up for dinner, eat and leave. That of course was unacceptable as a hobbit and so Bilbo resigned himself to the fact that until the trio of house guests were installed in their own smial, he would not be allowed to do his fair share of chores.

* * *

"Oh-ha-di-bloody-ha." Lyra moped as she saw the book sitting innocently on her bedside table that evening. Clearly Kreacher had been digging through her trunk and found one of the books Death had packed for her. How on earth was Machiavelli's ' _The Prince_ ' going to apply anyway to ruling a bunch of hobbits?

Lyra chuckled self-deprecatingly and shook her head as she climbed into bed and cracked the book open. She might as well try to read the thing, she might learn even one lesson about ruling from it. Flicking through a few pages she realised very quickly this might not be the case. A few phrases stood out to her, "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both." Clearly (and understandably) the man had never met hobbits or had the time to study their society. She had lived with hobbits for a month and knew that hobbits would follow whoever made them happy. And she had learned early on that her subjects couldn't care less about anything other than food, families and their homes. So long as nothing interfered with those three then they had no problems.

"The first methods for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him." This made even less sense to her new position. The people around her were two house elves who were busy celebrating her elevation in status. Bilbo Baggins who could not care less so long as his books, pipeweed and tea remained undisturbed; the Thain, Master and Mayor, all of whom really saw Lyra as a protector for their race…. None of them had any huge aspirations for wealth or land. What did that say about her then? That she was a fool for her lack of aspirations or she was intelligent for the same reason?

Lyra was tempted to use the Stone and summon Machiavelli to watch the comings and goings of the Shire to see whether he would readjust his views. Perhaps the Shire's version of _'The Prince'_ would read something like:

'1. Ensure that meal times are met at all times. Failure to do so will result in ill-tempered subjects. Similarly, the best way to control hobbits is through their stomachs. Bribery can be in the form of cakes and biscuits while the greatest rewards to the average citizen can come in the form of recipes for treacle tart.

2\. Ensure there are adequate parties to sustain the population, about one a week should do it. Refer to Rule 1., ensure adequate food at these events.

3\. Winning vegetable competitions is a show of wealth and status; therefore, all attempts must be made to ensure fairness and unbiased rulings. As Rule 1., prizes can be in the form of cakes, biscuits or minor recipes.

4\. Unless you are a hobbit, moonshine should be avoided at all costs.'

With a sigh Lyra threw the bookmark into a random page and set it back on the table. From her place, she could see her crown, handing on a nail above the door and preserved with many charms. She had been told she would be given more crowns with each season, but she planned to keep each one, to preserve them and remember the little hands who wove them. As she curled up on her slightly-too-small bed, Lyra smiled, she had been promised a place and a place she had found.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: The Rangers Visit**

Hobbits were often overlooked. Overlooked due to their stature, lack of traditional wealth and their insular community. In truth though, it is a state they themselves would have chosen, why would they wish it any other way? As a race, they cared not for gold, honour nor battle, why would they when their gardens, food and homes were far more important? Moreover, being overlooked came with advantages. Hobbits were a clever race but, unlike the elves, they did not wish to impose it on all and sundry or use it for their own gains. Instead, they were perfectly happy using their intelligence to keep themselves content and safe but that was about it.

Lyra had managed to preserve their way of life when she defended the Shire. What's more, she did so in a way that did not distract too much from their everyday life. The piles of corpses had been removed by some magic by the two house elves who had also taken it upon themselves to cast a spell to remove the lingering copper smell of blood. Put simply, the hobbits had found their witch and they would keep her. The Rangers, elves and wizards may want to take her but she was theirs. They would take her away, say that she had a greater purpose elsewhere or take her to Valar knows where to do some menial work that did not befit her status as Queenie of the Shire.

And not five days after the battle at the Brandywine, a small group of rangers made their way into the Shire from the Old Forest.

No-one had yet crossed back over to the east bank of the Shire as many feared the wolves may yet return. So, when six rangers stepped foot into the lands of the hobbits, it was to find a deserted group of smials, some had their doors ripped off the hinges, possessions dragged out into the snow by orcs trying to find the little inhabitants.

One of the younger rangers, Delwyn, who had only ever seen the Shire as a bustling haven, muttered a little prayer to the Valar. While he may have not seen the Shire after the last attack, he, like all Dúnedain had heard of the Fell Winter in the Shire. By the time the rangers had finally reached them, the hobbits had already suffered far too much and it was pretty much ingrained in the memories of many hardy men.

Arador, their leader looked around carefully and analytically stated, "There are no bodies."

His second in command, Harbald ducked into the door of a nearby home and saw neither blood nor bodies, "What do you think happened?"

"Last time we were here there were traces of the attack here, blood or clothes fragments. Thain Took and the Master of Buckland decided after the last Winter that those east of the river would cross it in the event of the threat of wolves. We can only hope that the natural defences held and they survived it all because there are warg tracks back there."

Delwyn ran over, he had been walking around the outside of a nearby house trying to find footprints, "There is an orc corpse back there."

Arador and Harbald followed him quickly and with the toe of their boots turned the corpse, which was half buried in snow, over. It was clearly not a natural death and a rusty orcish weapon was still embedded in the stomach.

"They must have been fighting amongst themselves." Harbald muttered as he wiped the toe of his boot in the snow to remove the black blood.

Arador nodded, "We shall leave this here for now and remove it when we come back to pick up the horses. It does not seem fair to leave an orc for some poor hobbit to have to remove from their fields. We must press on though."

By the time they reached the river, their hearts were in their throats. They were used to death, but the possibility of seeing the hobbits slaughtered once more was a horrible thought to them all. The little race did not deserve it nor would pull themselves together as other races who were more used to the horror of war. But, when they finally surveyed the river and the Shire beyond they did not see despair and disaster, instead, the community seemed fine. Carrying on their days in the snow, children playing and mothers gossiping.

Harbald huffed out a breath of air, "I am guessing this is a good thing."

"Very good." Arador smiled with relief, "Thank the Valar they seem fine. Perhaps the river did not freeze. They must have evacuated from this side in time and taken down the Brandywine Bridge."

Another ranger, Bayard, looked along the banks, "It does seem a little odd that the river did not freeze. I heard near Fornost last week that the river north of here was already frozen." He paused for a moment before asking, "The hobbit bounders wouldn't have fought them off, would they?"

The other rangers studied the opposite bank. Arador considered the sight, "Not for the community to still look like this. We should probably still speak with the Thain. Where is the best place to cross without the bridge at this time of year?"

It was Harbald who answered, "The Sarn Ford is south of here on the Green Way, it is the easiest natural crossing point. The closest we could get across is north on the Girdley Island, I am certain we could all make it across there."

"Right." Arador muttered, "We should cross now, then we can be back across before nightfall and continue on."

* * *

The minute the rangers had appeared at the east riverbank they had been spotted. Pimpernel Brandybuck, who was just out of his tweens, spied them immediately and ran to spread the word. Like a chain of Chinese Whispers the news spread throughout the Shire. From one smial to another nearly everyone became aware that something had to be done.

Lyra was theirs. Their witch and their Queenie who had to be protected from the outsiders who dared to encroach into their Shire.

As luck would have it for the hobbits, Lyra was in Little Delving visiting the families there so it was unlikely that their Queenie would accidently cross paths with these interlopers. But the hobbits were not going to leave it to chance and so three of the younger and fitter hobbits elected to run see where their newly crowned monarch was and to ensure there could not be any mistakes.

* * *

By the time the rangers reached the Tookborough it was obvious news had reached the Thain of his visitors as the hobbit was standing outside his door waiting for them.

"Arador!" He called, "It has been a few years. How are you?"

The Chieftain of the Dúnedain grasped the offered hand of the hobbit and shook it firmly "Very well, Thain Took. And you?"

"Not doing too badly. Will you all come in? I believe a kettle went on a few moments ago."

There were sounds of general consensus and the Took led them all into what was called the Deep Parlour, so named as it was one of the only rooms in the house where a full-grown man could stand up straight and not hit his head off beams or lights. Soon all were settled with some apple crumble cake and some mulled wine to keep chill off.

"Now." Gerontius stated as he supped his wine, "What news can you all bring me?"

Arador frowned, "Not much good I am afraid. We were worried that you had suffered this winter, we tracked a pack of wolves from the far north and they strayed this direction. When we passed through Buckland we saw you had evacuated, it was a good decision as there are a few damaged smials and a dead orc."

The Thain frowned, disliking having to lie but aware it had to be done, "We evacuated about two weeks ago, but we have been careful. Every evening and morning a group of the lads and bounders used the hooks for harvesting pipe weed to break up the ice before it built up too fast."

Harbald raised his eyebrows, "It was a good decision. I am glad you were able to defend yourselves a little better."

Gerontius seemed to sink into his chair, "Sometimes it is a case learning or else. However, how have other parts faired?"

"Not too bad actually." Harbald interjected, "Just the normal occurrence; some talk of hill-trolls in places they shouldn't be. But, if the weather is as the elves predicted then we should have a rather sudden spring and we should be fine for another year."

"So, the elves are being optimistic this year?" Gerontius asked, "A bit of a surprise, normally they are more cryptic than Gandalf."

Arador smirked, "Indeed, we actually heard the news from Elladan and Elrohir and they are slightly freer with their thoughts."

The Thain hummed slightly as he took a draught of wine, "And your families?"

The Chieftain smiled, "Arathon is into his forty-fourth year now, I am hoping he will find a wife soon."

"I have not seen that child since he was knee high even to me!" Gerontius joked.

"I was hoping to bring him soon to introduce you to him. His ranges have been mainly to the north and west but I am getting on a bit so he could do with learning the areas up to Rivendell better." Arador stopped for a moment, his father, the thirteenth Chieftain had passed away in the harsh winter that had taken the lives of many hobbits. One of his first missions as Chieftain had been to help the hobbits and he had always remembered it. He had always hoped he would live long enough to see his line secured but the way of life he had did not seem to make that possible. The life of the hobbits was a far cry from the harsh and rough north but he would not begrudge the little people. He could remember the first time he had seen the Shire as a twelve-year-old boy, he could not understand how a race of people could live as they did. Even the elves, who lived in relative peace now, had had a past bloodier than any other but this did not seem to be so for the residents of the Shire. They had their wandering days but nothing any bigger; it was almost frightening to a man who was part of a race who constantly were on a knife edge.

Arador was disrupted from his musings by Gerontius' reply, "Well, I would love to see him. I hope you get your grandchildren soon. Although, I must say, sometime after the fourteenth the congratulations do get a little repetitive! However, I suppose you are men and so do not have quite the same numbers of children as we hobbits do."

After another hour of general chat, Arador stood. "We had best be off if we wish to reach the edge of the Old Forest before nightfall."

The Thain followed their example and stood, "You are welcome to stay here if you wish."

"No, my dear friend. As much as we would love too, we have business towards Bree. We shall certainly take your offer up some other time."

"You are welcome to. Are you able to wait a few minutes, I can get you some fresh supplies?"

When he had waved off the rangers, Gerontius smiled, he liked the men. The most hobbits and men of Bree called them 'Watchers' in a rather derogatory manner that did in any way take into account the sufferings that they endured to keep them safe. Every time they came to visit he tried to show a little of his appreciation, whether it was through fresh bedrolls or through food. Fresh bread, cheese and meat may seem little to most hobbits but to the rangers who constantly travelled, hunted and watched it would ensure they did not have to find food for a week or so and may be able to save their own rations.

While he may desire nothing more than to keep Lyra in the Shire and free from outside influences, he would never do it at the risk of the rangers. For they had kept their land safe for generations and even if his people may not treat them well, he would.

* * *

There was one hobbit that Lyra could say, without an inch of doubt, she both was terrified of and adored in equal measure. Adamanta Chubb had married Gerontius Took and stood beside him as he ruled as Thain for over fifty years. Their ten surviving children were spread across the Shire and their grandchildren and great grandchildren seemed to be around every corner and smial.

She was the matriarch to end all matriarchs, running the Shire through sewing circles, cake sales and parties. To Lyra, it was as though Molly Weasley somehow became combined with Narcissa Malfoy. She knew every piece of gossip, every ounce of ill will and every little feeling of love and used it very effectively. She was a matchmaker who ended feuds with weddings, a master manipulator and had a keen love of planning that she utilised to great advantage. However, her love of her family was obvious and she made time for every member and constantly tried to keep them happy.

Put in simple terms, Adamanta was a wonder and Lyra stood in awe of her. The feelings were rather mutual and Adamanta decided she would put up with this young, unwed magical girl living in her favourite grandson's smial, if only because Bilbo had so much more life in him since her arrival.

Adamanta Took was perhaps the only reason that Lyra was actually prepared to stand looking at fabrics for three hours and having what seemed like every measurement of her body taken. Her first month in the Shire she had mainly stuck to her robes which both protected her from the cold and were close enough to a dress that they did not horrify the general hobbit population. Other than her armour, Lyra was certain she would not be wearing trousers for a long while; for hobbit women, it was a choice of skirts or dresses. And now she was Queenie she needed a wardrobe to match and she had therefore been summoned to the seamstress in Hobbiton. She had spent the previous day in Little Delving visiting and her fashion choices had seemed to be a point of interest to many of them, once Bilbo had mentioned this to his grandmother, it seemed to be something vital to rectify.

It was really only fair, it was she who crashed into their world and their society; it would be unfair for them to suddenly get used to the idea of a woman wearing trousers or skirts above the mid shin overnight. Perhaps in fifty years' time it may be more acceptable but, for now, it was far better that she wore the dresses and skirts that were so traditional of the hobbits. She didn't even mind wearing dresses, they tended to make her feel more elegant and confident that she actually was. One of the other good things about hobbits was that, as they didn't wear shoes and their feet were a source of pride, skirts and dresses tended to always be end around the mid-shin. Apparently, the rest of Middle Earth women had to contend with dresses to the floor on a daily basis and Lyra pitied the women, she was not sure she could handle helping in the garden in a very long dress.

Bilbo had accompanied them too, apparently his dress sense was at the cutting edge of hobbitish fashion and his advice tended to be sound. Lyra herself, was more convinced that the man was there for her own moral support and to provide Adamanta with another person to amuse herself with.

"I don't think you need to measure that…" She complained as the seamstress started measuring the length of each individual toe on her left foot.

The hobbitess snorted and continued her measuring, "Queenie Lyra, hobbits are not used to making shoes, we need all the help we can get to make them. Once the roads are clear enough in the Spring, you should be able to go to Bree to have a cobbler make proper shoes but for now this is the best way."

Lyra shrugged, not willing to risk the wrath of the seamstress by complaining again; after all, she had suffered the fury of Madam Malkin before and knew somethings were better left unsaid.

"Oh, Lyra dear? That colour just doesn't suit you at all…makes you look paler than an elf in winter."

With a grumble, the girl put down the yellow material she had been holding up, "Right. It isn't as though I know what an elf in winter looks like anyway… Dobby and Kreacher don't look particularly pale in winter."

"I think we need to stick to some nice blues, greens and reds would look wonderful, as would purple." Adamanta stated as she ignored Lyra's mumblings with the practiced ease of a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She pointed a needle at her grandson and then at the bolts of fabrics leaning in the racks against the wall; with a sigh, Bilbo stood and started a search.

Most of the clothes that hobbits made were of wool that could range from very coarse yarn for cloaks through to very fine ones made from goat fibres that was similar to the pashmina found in Lyra's last world. Wool could pretty much suit all their purposes as when good wool was used it was naturally waterproof and aged well. It was actually one of the Shire's chief exports as the lush pasture of the lands allowed the sheep to grow soft and fine coats that, once turned into yarn and dyed, were sent out in dwarven and elven caravans.

This large wool production was perhaps the reason why in the Shire at least, there were very few other local materials. Instead, the dwarven caravans brought silks and velvets in the summer when they passed through while the elves occasionally brought in cottons and linens. For now, the majority of Lyra's new wardrobe would be wool, at least until the caravans passed through Michel Delving on their way to Bree or the Iron Hills from the Blue Mountains and Erud Luin and they could get the silks and velvets or linens and cottons from the elves.

"Here we go!" He proclaimed proudly, as he laid several bolts down on the large cutting table. "These should do."

Adamanta set aside her knitting with a sigh as she stood, "Let us see."

The first bolt she proclaimed acceptable for a skirt but that it was to do nowhere near her face; the second would do for a dress; the third was too dark; the fourth fine. And so, it went on with Lyra lowering herself onto the low (for her) sofa with a sigh, quite content her opinion was not required. She would be the first to admit she did not know much about fashion or the process of making clothes and had no desire to discuss the type of darts certain skirts needed.

"Well, that has been a perfectly successful morning." Adamanta proclaimed with a clap of her hands, "Same time next week?"

Lyra looked suspiciously over, "Same time for what?"

"My dear girl. You are Queenie of the Shire, that means you cannot solely patronise a single seamstress."

"Please say you are kidding?"

Adamanta smirked and continued walking down the road, her knitting basket in the crook of her elbow, "I think we shall head to Michel Delving next time! There is a hobbitess there who makes the most wonderful lace and tatted work, we should be able to have her prepare some finer pieces. She and her husband also make some lovely jewellery that you may be interested in…. None of those silly heavy stones…."

Lyra turned to Bilbo in desperation, "Please. Help me?"

The hobbit however shook his head, a completely fake sad expression on his face, "I am sorry, you have met my grandmother, I cannot, in good faith, intervene…. Think of it as an opportunity to get to know other parts of the land perhaps?"

"Curse you Bilbo Baggins!"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic!" Bilbo answered with a slow shake of his head and a smirk now adorning his face, "At least you only have to do it once a week. And even she will, at some point, decide you have enough clothes! Chin up!"

Lyra just growled and stomped off up the hill muttering about pushy hobbits, unsympathetic roommates and a deep desire never to see another measuring tape again.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Into the new Year**

2918 of the Third Age of Middle Earth arrived in the Shire with little ceremony. And by the time _Rethe_ arrived it was clear that spring was well and truly on its way. For Lyra that meant a rather substantial change to her daily routine, mostly to do with her new position as Queenie but also to do with the improved weather that allowed for substantial time outside.

Her week tended to be rather regular, with days a week spent travelling to various parts of the Shire. Sometimes these were to stay with the Master or Mayor for a night or two and sometimes it was just day trips to places like the pipeweed fields. She had never lived in the proper country side; sure, Hogwarts was in the middle of nowhere but she rarely left the grounds but in the Shire, she had full rein to go wherever she wished. She could walk through the fields and orchards, paddle across the streams and run through the woods as much as she wished, in truth she felt a little like a child exploring but could not bring herself to care. She felt free.

One or two days a week were spent with Adamanta, it was her job to teach her all she could. This could range from learning about the hobbit holidays through to their history. For the latter, she was usually accompanied to this by Dobby or Kreacher who were just as interested to learn about their new world as she was. This did not mean to say, however, that they were very impressed by it all. The pair took great offence at the elves who inhabited other parts of Middle Earth, the fact that they did not serve a household or master seemed baffling to them both. Lyra rolled her eyes at this and sent a silent prayer to Mandos that Dobby and Kreacher did not meet an elf for a few decades, she was certain the poor elf would receive a good dressing-down. For all she tried, she seemed incapable of persuading her loyal retainers that just because they were called 'elves' they were not necessarily the same as 'house elves'.

The majority of her other days were taken up ruling, this tended to mean ruling from the tea parties and sewing circles that existed within the Shire. She had never tried sewing before but she had been quickly informed it was a vital skill and therefore she had to learn. She enjoyed it though and was busy sewing some handkerchiefs for Bilbo as thanks for his hosting. Her entire life was so different from her past that it felt rather ridiculous. But the tranquillity of it all meant she adored it. In the first few weeks, she had been sure she would grow tired of the monotony of her days but after a while she revelled in it and in the peace, that filled every part of her.

One of the most important parties in the Shire was celebrated in _Rethe_ to mark the end of the planting of the pipeweed. Traditionally, no wedding could be celebrated in the year until after this date and so a rather large party was planned to celebrate this date as well as the first wedding of the year, which was between one of the Hornblowers and a Proudfoot girl.

Lyra was, of course, invited and was very much looking forward to it. She liked weddings, while her the first wedding she attended had had the added excitement of attacking Death Eaters, she was certain this wasn't going to happen in the Shire.

She learned very quickly that hobbit weddings were not like magical or muggle ones. The bride and groom made their vows to each other and there was no need for any minister, instead the guests were the witnesses and a couple of them would sign the certificate before there was a prayer said to the Valar, with particular emphasis of Yavanna.

The vows and exchange of rings themselves was over within quarter of an hour, the party however, happened in the same place the vows took place and could last well into the next morning. The site for this wedding was the Party Field which had been the centre for the hobbit social life for many, many years. The entire area had been covered with tables, chairs and tents to allow a great number of hobbits to be fed and watered. Flowers were an important part of the whole thing and the flowers the bride and groom wore were symbolic of their union. Unlike the hobbits tradition for giving presents rather than receiving them on their birthday, at weddings, the happy couple did indeed receive gifts, they all sat piled up in one corner awaiting a pony and trap to remove them the next day.

In the centre of the Party Field was a large cleared area for dancing while a band had been positioned nearby for all to enjoy. Hobbit music tended to be split into two groups, the first was the dancing music that did not tend to have lyrics but instead got faster and faster until the dancers were whirling around like tops on ice. The second type did have lyrics and could range from the sublime to the ridiculous, or those love songs through to drinking songs. The inhabitants of the Shire loved to dance, all parties had it in some form, even the little parties for fauntlings' birthdays.

Lyra spent a good two hours splitting her time between admiring the raucous dancing on the floor and conversing with a great many of her loyal subjects. The last time she had seen Dobby and Kreacher they were busy surrounded by fauntlings, teaching them how to Double Dutch. From her place, she could see Bilbo sitting with a group of his cousins in the middle of some sort of drinking contest. She herself had learned her lesson and, having no desire to wake up and that she had signed another contract to do something stupidly ridiculous like marry a troll or steal from a dragon, had stuck to the lighter drinks the hobbits served.

"Lyra dear?"

Lyra looked up from the dance floor to the person who had addressed her. "Yes Adamanta?"

"Have you any dances from your world that you could teach us?"

Lyra thought for a moment about the dancing from her world, waltzes were popular but did not seem to fit the situation. The only other type of dancing she was familiar with was Scottish reeling that Gred and Forge had taught the rest of Gryffindor as a bit of a joke for McGonagall (she had actually loved it and insisted on a reeling night once a month). It was a type of dancing very popular in the wizarding world and parts of the muggle one that was actually very similar to the dances the hobbits adored, full of turns and footwork and music that got faster and faster.

She looked to Adamanta, "I only know one type I could teach you."

"Well, come on then! Teach us! It will be nice to learn some new dances." She proclaimed, rising from the table to organise a crowd of students.

Lyra stood on a low stool so she could survey the entire floor. "So, this is called the Dashing White Sergeant. You need to be in groups of three, two boys and a girl or two girls and a boy. Then, with the odd one out in the trio in the middle, each is going to face another, with their backs to another trio so you form a large ring around the edge of the floor." It rather amazed Lyra how quickly this could be arranged, for within three minutes a set of over fifty dancers stood waiting new orders.

"So, this dance is counted in eights. First, each group of six joins hands and goes around in a circle to the left for eight beats, then back to the right for eight. Everyone okay?" At their nods she continued, "Then, the person in the middle of the group of three turns to the person on the right, set for three and clap. Then they turn them and then face the person on the left and repeats. Okay? Finally, each group of three walks a figure of eight and then faces their opposites and: Step, step, clap, clap, clap, step back, back, stamp, stamp, stamp and hold hands and one ducks under the other to meet the next couple. Shall I go over it again?"

"Nope." Gerontius answered from his place between Bilbo and his wife, "Easy! Music!"

Lyra sat on her bench and watched as the hobbits danced the reel almost perfectly. How the musicians had understood what she had been talking about enough to pick up a tune or the dancers enough to actually do it, she had no idea.

"How on earth can you learn that so fast? It took me months!" She sulked, she rather wished she was exaggerating but dancing was not particularly her strong suit although Kreacher had been a godsend teaching her for the Ministry balls.

Gerontius laughed, "My dear Queenie, we could dance before we would walk! Now, I take it we just repeat and go around in a circle."

"Pretty much." Lyra replied, vowing to practice the hobbit dances with Bilbo when they had a spare moment so she didn't look like a total fool during the next party. (Which, knowing the hobbits was going to be in only a few days' time, but there wasn't much she could do about that.) "But the music gets faster over time."

The party would continue on for another five hours, by which time the first rays of light were creeping over the Old Forest in the distance. Many of the faunts had been lulled to sleep hours ago and had been piled into one of the tents in a huge pile; according to Bilbo, this was about standard and the young ones would wake and toddle off back to their parents who were either still enjoying the party or had headed back to bed. When Lyra had seen the pile of faunts, a tangle of curly heads and limbs she had almost squealed but instead had conjured a few blankets to keep them properly tucked up and left them to their slumber.

She herself had hauled herself up to Bag End already aware of the hangover that was coming her way the next morning. The Queenie of the Hobbits shuddered slightly, she, Dobby and Kreacher had decided to preserve their potion supply for as long as possible and if she took a hangover potion every time she had one then, according to her social calendar, she would have run out within a month.

* * *

The following morning was not a cheery time for Lyra. It had not started particularly well, as many of their houses were too far to walk to when under the influence, Bilbo had had a large number of his relatives borrowing various truckle beds and chairs to sleep on. However, for some reason hobbits did not seem to suffer hangovers and so rose in time for their second breakfast. Hobbits seemed to have the stomach of a pachyderm and not even enough alcohol to get Hagrid drunk could keep them from their cooked breakfasts.

It had been just before elevenses when Falco had looked around the motley collection of Tooks and Baggins to note the absence of their magical companion. As it was so late, they decided they would go and check that she was actually her room and had not left early for a walk. When the knocks on the door had received no answer they carefully pushed the door open to reveal their Queenie curled up on her bed, her crown hanging on a bed post and her dress hung over her book case.

"She's still abed!" Drogo had proclaimed with surprise to the others.

"Morning Queenie!" Falco called as he moved into the room and pulled the curtains open, allowing the morning sun to spill directly into the room.

"TURN THE DRATTED SUN OFF SOMEONE….!"

The hobbits ran with squeaks of panic, only just missing Lyra's whimpered, "Please…" as they fled the room.

They ran back to the kitchen in fear of limb and life. Once they had regrouped in the kitchen they decided to have another second breakfast to ease the trauma arising from their attempts to rouse their Queenie.

* * *

As she lay in bed nursing her hangover an hour after her rather rude awakening, Lyra mused on a line apparently from Shakespeare that she had read while still at muggle school. "People are usually happiest at home." If you had asked her four years ago, Lyra would have said Hogwarts' was her home, as it was the only place she was happy in her comparatively short life. But her happiness at Hogwarts did not compare to the Shire. The Shire was a place where she felt utterly at peace, there were no pesky reporters around the corner, no worries about money or politics. It wasn't even as though the hobbits had many expectations of her, they only wanted her to be there for them and on the rare occasion they needed it to help protect them.

Lyra leant over to her bedside table and picked up the Resurrection Stone which sat innocently there. Turning it thrice in her hand she thought concentrated for a moment.

"Hi Mama." She whispered as the figure of her mother appeared on the bed beside her.

"Hello darling." Lily Potter replied, equally softly.

Lyra sat silent for a moment, not really sure what to say or how to explain what she needed to. "Is it wrong that I am so happy here?"

"Wrong?" Lily exclaimed, "Lyra Potter, you listen to me and you listen to me well. You have experienced so much misfortune, so many evils and wrongs over the past two decades or so that you deserve all the happiness you can find. There was nothing for you back in Britain so why stay? All we have ever wanted for you is that you be happy. And if happy is surrounded by people under 4 foot tall then that is where you need to be."

The Mistress of Death chuckled for a moment before sighing. "I am sorry I haven't called you for a while."

"Darling. We will always be here for you but you needed time to recover. You can call us as much or as little as you want and we shall always have time for you."

"Can I call the others then?"

"Might be a good idea." The spirit of Lily answered, "Your father and Sirius have no idea that girl time is a necessary thing and not to be ruined by their presence."

"And Remus?" Lyra chuckled.

"Well, Remus has a monthly problem too so he is basically a girl!" Lily laughed, "I almost wish I could say I was kidding but I swear I had more stereotypically 'girly' conversations with Remmie than I had with Alice Longbottom!"

Lyra laughed and summoned the rest of her family who seemed to pile into the room, James taking a seat on the other side of her, Sirius lounging on the too small chair and Remus leaning casually against a wall.

Her father was the first to speak, "Hello little fawn!"

"Hi Daddy, Remmie, Siri. How are you all?"

"I'm tip-top, thank you for asking." Sirius answered.

"I think the more pertinent question is, are you alright?" Remus asked

Lyra looked around a moment, "I mean… I don't know. I am happy here but…"

Her father interrupted, "Then that is enough. We may be the most selfish people in the world but we want you to be happy."

"Okay." Lyra acquiesced, "Aren't hobbits so cool?" She commented with a grin.

"They are indeed, I like the Tooks in particular." Her godfather stated as he swung his legs.

"Adamanta is a dear too." Lily threw in with a grin and then added to her husband and his friends, "I am sure she could keep even you three in line."

"If I was still alive I would accept that challenge." James smirked, "How dare you impugn our honour as Marauders!"

Remus rolled his eyes, "The hobbits are wonderful. I think we should be commenting on the fact that our cub is now a queen though."

"Queenie." Lyra corrected.

James was now grinning inanely, "Too right you are Remmie. A true Marauder you are, getting yourself crowned Queen of an entire people. Good going!"

"I feel we missed a trick at Hogwarts." Sirius chirped, "Imagine what we could have done if we had got ourselves crowned kingys' of the house elves?"

Lily shuddered, "Please don't Sirius! I don't want to imagine that."

"We would have been just and fair rulers I would have you know." The grim animagus crowed.

The five spent another half hour chatting, reminiscing over various events, teasing each other and planning.

When they had left, Lyra huffed a breath out and went in search of her house elves and the wonderful food they could create. A full English breakfast sounded like a good thing to have for lunch when one was still struggling with the effects of the previous night.

* * *

While Lyra was engrossed in her recovery from her hangover, she was not to know that a small committee had gathered near the Party Tree. The group consisted of Bilbo, the Thain, Master and Mayor as well as a random assortment of hobbits ranging from builders to farmers. However, their aim was all the same, to find a place for Lyra to live. They had started their search around the Three Farthing Stone that marked the meeting point of the regions of the South, East and West Farthings. As this was central to the land of the hobbits, it seemed a good place to start the hunt. If her house was near here then no one area could specifically claim it was there where Lyra resided solely and she would be in a good place to meet her subjects.

The next two hours were spend walking around the nearby area trying to find a suitable location but to no avail.

Just as they were about to give up and reconsider their plans, Bilbo suddenly stopped and thought for a few seconds. The Three Farthing Stone, where they had started their journey sat a little way back from the Great East Road that ran between Bree in the East and the Grey Havens in the West. That wasn't really what Bilbo was interested in, he was far more concerned with the hill that the eight-foot stone sat on. He turned to his grandfather.

"Grandfather? Is there any reason why we can't construct a smial under the Three Farthing Stone?"

Gerontius paused for a moment, recalling the site and scrunched his brow, "I can't see why not." He called to the others in the party who were ahead, "Any reason why we can't dig under the Three Farthing Stone? Bilbo had a thought."

"If it were possible it would be a very good place." The Mayor mused, the site was very symbolic for the hobbits and the Shire as well as very central, thus avoiding potential conflicts. "Shall we go have a quick look before it gets too dark?"

There were general noises of affirmation and the group trekked back to the place they had started their search.

The rise that the stone stood on was not particularly high and certainly did not have the grand views and position of Bag End. However, it was tall enough to build a very large, single storey smial.

The Mayor walked to the top of the rise and examined the stone, "Anyone have any idea how this is placed?" There was no reply other than negative noises as the stone had been there even before the Shire was populated.

"It is a good idea." The Master acknowledged. "But we need some surveys first. We don't want to dig and find the foundations for the stone wouldn't support a smial being dug around it."

"I can do it." One of the Hornblowers offered, he was a very prominent builder for the Shire whose reputation was well known. "I do think we should talk to those elves of the Queenie. They know her better than us all and their magic may help us."

Bilbo was the most familiar with the pair of house elves and piped up, "They would certainly love to be involved. At any rate, I know our Queenie's needs for a house may differ from our own so their impact would allow us to keep it a surprise while still building a smial suitable for her and her needs."

"Well, I think that is a marvellous idea. Master Hornblower, I imagine you will need a few days to get prepared but once your report is done then we can speak to Dobby and Kreacher before we start to dig. Now, it is getting rather chilly, I think we all deserve some dinner. I shall stand up whoever would like to join me at the Green Dragon!"

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Disturber of the Peace**

As was their habit, the four leaders of the hobbits met every other Trewsday at the Tuckborough for an official council. Normally, it was much less a council as much as a good gossip with tea and cake but now that it was _Thrimidge_ there was a great deal of planning for the Midsummer's Day party that would happen next month. It was the biggest celebration within the Shire and the events lasted a full week to celebrate. One of the biggest parts of it was the Free Fair, the largest market in the Shire which was so big it happened in the fields of the White Downs. Two hours into the meeting and the four were taking a little break from their decisions to have a bit of their more traditional gossip.

"Did you know I have had no less than four people asking me what your name means?" The Mayor of Michel Delving exclaimed to Lyra.

"Whatever for?" She returned.

"Oh, I can guess!" The Master replied, "Hobbits are usually named after flowers or plants, I doubt anyone would break that tradition so they will be trying to find a flower that symbolises the same thing as your name!"

The three men laughed while Lyra was rather reminded of the fact that since the Battle of Hogwarts there were twenty-one baby girls called 'Lyra' registered at the Ministry. She did consider it though and announced, "Considering my name comes from a musical instrument, a lyre, I doubt they will manage."

The hobbits considered it for a moment, nearly every plant had a meaning to hobbits and they used their special language to great effect. But they would not find a direct comparison.

"I suppose a plant symbolising music would do." The Thain mused, "But the only one I can think of is 'Reed' which is also symbolic of imprudence and that isn't the greatest name for a fauntling."

There were sounds of agreement from around the room and the Mayor added, "Slightly reminds me of a mother who tried to name her daughter 'Datura' a month ago."

The other two men made various sounds and Lyra couldn't help but ask, "Why is that so bad?"

"Datura is symbolic of deceitful charms." The Thain replied, "But I cannot exactly talk, I named a daughter after a poisonous plant…"

"Are most hobbits named after plants? I don't know a plant called 'Bilbo' though." Lyra asked as she racked her brain, trying to recall anyone who wasn't.

"Normally." The Mayor answered, "There are some exceptions that tend to be family names, so 'Isenbold' is not derived from a plant but is a Took family name, no one else would call their child that name. And Master Baggins' name does come from a flower, the Bilba flower is a native low flowering forest flower."

A knock on the door disturbed whatever the Master was going to add and after the Thain has called for the person or persons to enter, the door swung open to reveal a very out of breath Flambard Took, grandson of the smial's owner.

"Flambard? Is there a matter that requires our attention?"

"I met Pimpernel Hornblower in the fields south of here. He was trying to get here but was so tired he asked me to deliver you a message."

The Thain looked up in worry, it seemed rather urgent for someone to try to run cross country the fifteen miles or so from Longbottom to the Tuckborough. "What has happened?"

Flambard looked at the company around the room, "Gandalf has crossed the Sarn Ford and is heading towards Michel Delving. Pimpernel said he was on a horse."

The three older hobbits exchanged looks and Mayor started to stand, "Well, this has been delicious. I suppose I should head back to Michel Delving then. I am sure I will meet Gandalf on the road and we can have a quick talk. If he was on a horse then he will have arrived at my smial and realised I was out and, I am sure, be on his way here."

The Thain smiled slightly stiffly, "That sounds like a wonderful. It has been a while."

"What's going on?" Lyra asked, concerned about the reaction of her subjects to the news of this 'Gandalf' arriving in the Shire.

The Master of Buckland waved off her concerns as he moved tucked his chair under the table and moved towards the door, "Nothing to worry about, just an unexpected guest. Gerontius. Thank you very much for an absolutely delicious elevenses, would you be so kind to pass on my compliments about the lavender biscuits to your wife?"

"Of course, my dear hobbit. Will we be seeing you next week?"

"Of course, of course. Wouldn't miss it!"

The Queenie was rather shocked to find that five minutes later she was being escorted out of the door of the Great Smials by two Took youngsters. Even in a hurry, Gerontius had observed all the correct and appropriate social niceties; but Lyra was sure that she had, by hobbit standards, been thrown out of the door.

Lyra looked between the two tweens, slightly suspicious, "Is something going on?"

Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, "No, Queenie Lyra!"

"Flambard?" Lyra asked, very confused as to why she had basically been thrown out of the house, "Who is this Gandalf?"

"Gandalf?" The hobbit asked, not looking at her at all, "He is a friend of Grandfather's."

"An old friend." Lyra repeated, slightly disbelievingly as she followed the two hobbits who led her cross country towards Hobbiton.

* * *

Gandalf rather considered himself an expert on hobbit customs and behaviours yet he found himself completely baffled. He had been on his way to see his old friend, Gerontius at the Tookborough yet had found himself waylaid by the Mayor of Michel Delving. While he had conversed with the hobbit before, he would definitely not expect the man to stop him in the road for a chat. Most peculiar behaviour for a hobbit. Normally only the fauntlings would approach him and follow him around asking for fireworks, but there were no faunts around, that in itself was rather odd. Most times he came he as followed by at least half a dozen trying to find some fireworks hidden in his belongings.

When he reached the Tookborough half an hour later, he heaved a sigh of relief. The large hill that housed the winding maze of corridors and rooms had been a place he had known really since it was first made. Then of course, it was only a few rooms at the top of the hill but had steadily got larger and larger as the Shire settled.

His friend Old Took was standing by the door, walking stick in one hand; Gandalf brows furrowed, this was one of the reasons why he hated coming to the Shire. Hobbits were among his favourite people of the Middle Earth but their lives were so short that he could see them as faunts through to their dotage and to him it was a mere blink of time. The wizard shook his head to shake the cobwebs of negative thoughts from his head, he had no desire to wonder whether or not Gerontius would be waiting for him in Tookborough the next time he came to the Shire.

"Gerontius!" He proclaimed as he slid off his horse and ambled towards the hobbit.

"My dear Gandalf. It has been years!"

"Seven by my reckoning. Although, at my age one can never be sure."

The Thain snorted, "I have known you for one hundred and twenty-three years and you have not changed one iota. Now, come inside and we can have an early lunch, I am sure you have been travelling for a while and are in need of sustenance. Oh! Leave the horse, one of the lads will take it round to the farm steading."

* * *

When he had finally shown Gandalf to the door the two days later sometime before elevenses, Gerontious wandered into his wife's parlour. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into a sofa while Adamanta watched with raised eyebrows and a smile on her face.

"That bad?" She questioned as she closed up from her account books and put the top back on the inkwell.

"You don't even know. That wizard knew something was up and seemed intent on discovering what."

Adamanta moved to sit down beside her husband and grabbed his wrinkled hand in her own, "Well, it is over and he only tends to drop by every few years or so. I am sure you will have recovered by then!"

"By the Valar I hope so! I have a lot of time for that man, despite his many quirks but when he wants to know something he is as tenacious as a tween after a blackberry tart on the window sill."

"What made him suspicious in the first place?"

Gerontious laughed slightly, "I don't know exactly, he mentioned something about no faunts and then something the suspicious glances."

"The faunts all ran up to Bag End to see Lyra." Adamanta informed him, "They made it their challenge to not let her leave the house until he left. I think they have developed a runner system so when he leaves they will know!"

The man laughed, "Lyra will get suspicious if every few months we try to lock her in Bag End…. She will eventually want to know what is going on."

"Isenbold suggested we inform Dobby and Kreacher about our plans, he seems to think they will assist if they were told."

"Probably, they want to keep her safe as much as we do."

"She is just a child." Adamanta mused. "I feel bad that she had to save us but hopefully she will always have a home here."

Her husband grabbed her hand back and pulled her closer, "She has had a hard life. But we are hobbits! Home, food and family are all the majority of us care about, where better for her to recover? She has been here half a year and is already far better than she was"

"I hate the idea of a child not having a family from such a young age. Do you know what Bilbo told me yesterday when I met him in the market? He was so enraged, apparently Lyra lived in a cupboard under a flight of stairs until she was eleven! Dobby told him."

"We cannot change the past." The Thain reminded her, although he too was horrified by the story, "We can make sure that her future is better."

"I know, I know." Adamanta conceded before she chuckled slightly, "Bilbo was busy trying to find some steak. Something about making a steak and kidney pudding for her to cheer her up."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gerontious looked to his wife, "We did the right thing not telling Gandalf, didn't we? Are we being selfish? Keeping her for ourselves?"

"Gandalf is a wonderful man but I fear that he would prefer Lyra accompany him to that wizarding order of his. And I cannot see Lyra travelling from place to place with Gandalf nor living the life of a scholar and recluse like that White Wizard in the Gap of Rohan. And we are not being selfish. Without being rude, what good would she do in the wide world? She can barely feed herself and she is so sad! Ten years with us and she will be a completely different person, look at how she has improved in the past six months! From her stories, she has always had to save people, she deserves a break for a little while at least."

"My dear Adamanta?" The Thain asked in a light tone, "Have we just adopted another family member?"

"She needs it...!" There was a pause. "She reminds me of Belladonna. Maybe that is why I feel so strongly about this." She mused, her tone sad as she laid her grey head on her husband's shoulder.

Gerontious smiled sadly as he gazed out the window into the garden beyond and remembered his spirited and wonderful daughter. "I know what you mean... I know."

A tear ran down the hobbitess' cheek and she sighed heavily, turning her face into her husband's shoulder. He in turn wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head for a moment. "I love you, my darling wife." He whispered.

* * *

Gandalf, as was his custom, did not dress for dinner with the elves, he just about managed to remove his hat but that was it really. His dark and worn clothes were markedly different to the fitted robes of the elves which were decorated with delicate belts and jewellery. The light spring weather allowed them to dine in one of the open gazebos of Rivendell. It was only an informal dinner consisting of Gandalf, Elrond, Glorfindel, Lindir, Erestor and a few other advisors and all listened as the wizard regaled them of his travels in the past few months.

About half way through the main course, while he was sipping a glass of delightful elvish wine he turned to his host, "My friend? May I ask a favour of you?"

The ancient elf raised an eyebrow and surveyed the man, "Is this the type of favour that involves your meddling's and has far reaching implications across the whole of the Middle Earth? As far as I can remember, those are your favourite types of favours to ask of us."

Gandalf spluttered slightly, "I will have you know, I never 'meddle'!" Several of the elves laughed out loud at that, the musical sound only serving to make their guest roll his eyes. "Fine. Rarely meddle". He corrected. "And anyway, this isn't that type of favour. I am worried about the hobbits."

The last statement served to silence everyone at the table, they all had a soft spot for the little race. Elrond fixed his gaze on the wizard, "Has something happened to them? Elladan and Elrohir informed us that the Rangers had visited after the last winter and all was well."

"I visited the Thain and something seemed up. I don't know what it was but every hobbit I passed seemed on edge. And I am certain Gerontious was hiding something from me."

The elvish lord turned back to his meal, with a slight grin on his face. "I shall not make a comment about how they may have been hiding something because it was you. And I shall certainly refrain from making a comment about the fact you are called, what was it, 'Disturber of the Peace' in the Shire?"

"You take a few hobbits on holiday to Rivendell and you are forever labelled a public nuisance!" Gandalf griped, "But never before have I basically been run out of the Shire by a bunch of fauntlings! The last time I visited they begged for my fireworks."

"Oh, that is a wonderful image." Whispered Glorfindel to the table at large, "Can you not help but just imagine it? The great Mithrandir fleeing from a group of halfling babes no taller than his knees."

"Enough laughter at my expense!" The wizard complained, his nose twitching slightly as he cut himself a piece of venison.

Elrond laughed at the wizard's petulant expression that did not match his appearance or considerable age and wisdom, "Of course, _mellon nin_! Fear not though. If you are worried for the halflings then we shall check on them. We owe it to them, we failed to save them last time."

The mood grew sombre as they recalled the devastation of the Shire a few years prior. Among the fallen had been Belladonna Took, or Baggins as she became. She had been a dear friend to many in Rivendell after her visits to their city and her death had struck many hard.

Erestor looked to Gandalf, "How is her child?"

The wizard sighed, knowing full well who the chief counsellor was talking about. "I am afraid I did not see him in person. But his grandfather mentioned he was well. I am ashamed to say I could not face him myself, his parents were both wonderful people who deserved far better than what happened to them."

Elrond sighed, "We can only agree. Perhaps it is time that we send an elven representative to the Shire once more. Our trade agreements have not been renegotiated for a while and has rather stagnated, that would give a justification for our visit. I am certain that if we were to turn up without a suitable reason, the halflings will simply clam up."

"I would be most grateful." Gandalf stated as he pulled a pipe from his pocket and cleaned the bit on the edge of his cloak, "I would do it myself but I rarely visit the Shire twice in close succession, I fear my presence achieve nothing but further mistrust."

"Mithrandir, we shall do what we can." Elrond reiterated, "It is the start of their Thrimidge now. I shall send a letter to Gerontius to expect us in a month I should think. I shall speak to Lindir in the morn to arrange it."

* * *

 **Anyway... A poll has gone up on my profile with pairings for the story, the options are all ones I have had suggested to me and range from hobbits through to elves. Feel free to vote and we shall see in a couple of weeks what happens.**


	3. Chapters 11-15

**Chapter 11: The Elves' Visit & Midsummer **

Of all the other races of Middle Earth, hobbits preferred elves the most. Dwarves were too rowdy, too barbaric; men were too uncivil and rude, and while elves tended to be among the tallest Big Folk, at least they were calm and civilised. Tweens would spend their days trying to find the elves who supposedly lived in the nearby forests or who travelled through the Shire to the Grey Havens in the west. Everyone knew of Lord Elrond too who had provided medicine to the hobbits on several occasions when famine, winter or illness had threatened to destroy their community.

However, having said this, it should be pointed out that the manner in which elves and dwarves were treated by the hobbits was not very different. And so, when a party of elves crossed the Brandywine Bridge and strolled down the Shire during mid-Rethe, they were viewed with suspicion and and a high degree of wariness. All along the route to the Stock, hobbits stopped tending their gardens and livestock, stopped their conversations and games to watch the progress of the group.

Glorfindel turned to Lord Elrond, trying to ignore the looks, "I thought they knew we were coming?" The group of six or so elves had left their horses on the otherwise of the Brandywine River and meandered across the bridge towards the Tookborough just after second breakfast.

The ancient half-elf smiled slightly, "They did, I sent a letter a few weeks ago with the Rangers. But our people have not outright visited the Shire in many years, except in times of great hardship. We cannot be surprised they stare so."

Erestor snorted elegantly, "I do wonder whether hobbits could ever get used to outsiders. Even Mithrandir is viewed with a great deal of suspicion."

"We view Mithrandir with a great deal of suspicion…" Glorfindel commented in an undertone, "And he has visited Rivendell many, many times. But I suppose that has more to do with the fact he tends to ask things of us. Case in point…we are standing in the Shire, surrounded by little halflings glaring at us."

If Elrond was of lesser character he would have rolled his eyes at his seneschal, instead however, he gestured them to a path heading off to the west, "The Tookborough is down here. Come, I would hate to disturb them all in the middle of their luncheon."

"Then why have we come at all?" Glorfindel asked Erestor with a smirk curling on his lips, "I thought they ate near constantly."

Erestor did finally resort to rolling his eyes at his old friend as he nudged his horse on. "Come Glorfindel, if I didn't know you better I would say you were scared of all the staring. Surely some glances can't phase the great Balrog slayer?"

The great warrior mock glared at the advisor, "Please Erestor!"

* * *

A couple of hours later, the advisor and the great warrior found themselves at a bit of a loose end as Old Took and Elrond had ensconced themselves behind the closed doors of the Thain's office to, on the face of it at least, discuss trade and the like.

Erestor and Glorfindel wandered around the Shire, unhampered by the inhabitants although many a wary glance or glare was shot in their direction. They accepted the looks, knowing full well that this was pretty standard for the race, however, when they saw what was clearly a building site and partially dug smial they had to stop for a few minutes to watch the activity.

"Master hobbit?" Erestor asked, seeing one emerge from the vague outline of a door in the construction.

As luck would have it for the pair of elves, the hobbit they had addressed was a Took and therefore more inclined to speak to them. "Yes, Master elves?"

"Forgive us, but we are intrigued by your building techniques, may you explain them to us?" Erestor asked, looking as a barrow of rubble was pushed by another hobbit from the smial and down the lane.

Fortinbras Took shrugged, if his grandfather was having to be polite to the elves then he would be too. "There isn't much too it but would you like to come in and see?"

The pair of elves looked at each other and nodded, "We would love to."

"Well, we build in either two ways." Fortinbras started, "We dig into the hill or we build an artificial hill on to a surface. We tend to build onto a hill when we are increasing the size of an existing smial and adding floors, like in the Brandy Hall but here we are digging into an untouched site. For some reason, the Shire earth has pockets of lighter stone that is very easy to hew and so building these types of buildings here is quite easy."

"So, you rarely build wood and stone structures?"

"They tend to be used for public buildings like the inns and the farm buildings."

Glorfindel looked intrigued as he ducked under the low door and stepped down a step to straighten up in a tall entrance hall area, "This is quite a tall space for hobbits, if we can stand up straight, no?"

Fortinbras tried not to act suspiciously and come up with a plausible explanation as to why a race that stood at under 4ft tall would need a room that was around 9ft tall at the moment, "It actually isn't too tall, by the time we add in the flooring, insulation and ceiling it becomes lower."

"That makes sense." Erestor said as he looked through the space trying to imagine the finished building. "How much is the plan of the home dictated by the physical geography of where it is built?"

"When planning the main concern is always about natural light so that is what dictates everything really. Here we are quite lucky that the hill is small enough we can basically dig out the whole core, excluding the area supporting the stone above in the very centre, and have rooms facing every direction which will allow light in at all times of the day. We then plan the arrangement of the rooms for instance the breakfast room will face east so it is lit when the sun rises, the study gets the light for most of the day. And, in the centre where there is no light, we can build stores as they will need to be the coolest rooms anyway. Where there is only one side that faces out to natural light then we can build the more important rooms on the outside and work back from there."

As he was speaking Fortinbras had led the two elves down the roughly hewen corridor that ran in a large loop around the smial, pointing out features like the stores and the chimneys.

"How long will it take to finish?"

The hobbit touched the wall and gestured for the elves to do so too, under their fingers the stone felt damp and almost soft. "When the rock here is newly hewed it still has moisture trapped in it and is quite soft, the moisture evaporates and a skin forms that hardens over time. We tend to dig the smial out and leave it for a few months to dry out and the walls to harden and the ground to settle before we decorate. Depending on the weather that may take a month or six. So, this smial could be finished by Mid Year's Day or by After Yule. But obviously the outside rooms dry quicker as they were cut first and are closer to the air so we will decorate them first and then move in. It works well as the outer rooms are more elaborate anyway so take more time."

"I thought it might be much longer." Erestor commented.

Fortinbras shrugged, unwilling to admit that they were putting so much time and effort into the smial for a reason.

"Who did you say this smial was for?" Erestor asked, as they emerged into the light having completed a loop around the inside of the building site.

The hobbit thought for a suitable answer and as he had no wish to lie replied, "The plan is for it to be a public building once it is finished. The stores will be for things like medicine and food in case we have another bad winter. The hill is central to the Shire so it is within easy reaching distance to all inhabitants. A custodian will live here to maintain them."

The elves seemed to accept that answer but Glorfindel added, "I was just wondering whether it was like Bag End where it was a marriage gift."

Fortinbras thought about the home his uncle made for his aunt, "Not quite, those are rare. Most hobbits live in their own family smials or burrows. Making smials is a very lengthy and expensive process, one that you hope pays off for you and future generations as you are able to live there for many years."

"So do you live with your family unit then?" Erestor asked

"I'm a Took, I could live anywhere in the Shire and be next door to my family." Fortinbras pointed out with a exasperated tone to his voice, "However, yes I do."

"I always thought it was quite romantic for the Thain to ask Bungo Baggins to build a home for Belladonna." Glorfindel mused.

The hobbit chuckled slightly, "To hobbits there is a vast difference between a house and a home. Grandpa asked Uncle Bungo to build a home; he asked for him to build somewhere Auntie Belladonna could be happy. He could have decorated a room in the Tookborough where they could live together and that would have fine. Building a house was fine but he succeeded in the challenge when he turned it into a home."

"He was showing off then?"

"Pretty much. But I don't think either of them regretted it at any point. Bag End is special." Fortinbras stated clearly as he looked over to Hobbiton and the hill that contained Bag End beyond it.

* * *

While Glorfindel and Erestor had disappeared to make their rounds of the Shire, Elrond had been busy trying to think of subtle ways to gain answers from the Thain.

"To business then?" The old hobbit asked.

"Indeed. I think we are both aware the trade routes have declined in the past few decades, mainly due to bad winters and the road conditions. As I stated in my letter, I believe it would help both the Shire and us if we considered how we can recover and renegotiate this relationship. May I ask, what do you need from us? I suppose I should clarify though, what materials and products can you offer for trade and what materials and products do you need?"

Old Took sat back in his seat, steepling his hands, he was well aware the elves were not just visiting to revisit neglected trade routes. If they were lacking materials there were many other communities who could easily provide goods to Rivendell and the elves. There was something further behind this meeting.

However, he was willing to play the game. "As you know, we are a mostly self-sufficient society, at least in regards to the basics of life. It tends to be the finer, more exotic things that we cannot grow of make that we lack. Spices, seasoned timber lengths, linens and cottons are things that, while we are not lacking, we would make use of and are gaps in our current imports. In terms of what we can offer in return, we grow far more grains than even we need, we currently send a great deal to Ered Luin but we are still left with extra. Wool is the other thing of course that we have an excess of, particularly the coarser weights for colder climes."

The Lord nodded, "Wool and grains are certainly things that we would be prepared to trade for, pipeweed too. We used to send your wool as far as Lothlorien on your behalf and I know that my kin beyond the Misty Mountains would be glad to receive these again. Regarding the items that you would want in return, I am sure we can organise something. Are there any priorities?"

"No, not really." The Thain replied before he thought, "Although, if you have any books that you could trade, we would be happy to make a trade for that, you can suggest a price. A number of my family have been asking for books and maps and there are only so many up-to date ones in the Shire."

Elrond nodded, "Any subjects in paticular?"

Thinking quickly of Lyra's voracious reading of all books she could find about Middle Earth he shook his head. "Books can always find a reader here."

Elrond smiled slightly before he gazed deeply at the old hobbit in front of him."The rangers told us that the river did not freeze and you all survived the winter unaffected."

Gerontious nodded as he tilted his head slightly to stared back at the elf unblinking, "Yes. We were lucky. We were more prepared too which helped, we have learned at least form past tragedies."

Eventually even the elf lord's patience was lost at the evasive and noncommittal answers he was receiving from everyone. "Is everything alright Thain Took?"

"Yes of course. Why wouldn't it be? Would you like refill of tea? Or perhaps another scone? They are a specialty of my dear wife."

Elrond raised a single eyebrow and surveyed the hobbit across his refilled teacup. There had been something wrong with the entire conversation he had just had and he had no idea what was wrong both with the Thain and the hobbits in general.

* * *

"If there is one thing I hate to say," Elrond started, "It is Gandalf was right."

Glorfindel and Erestor looked at each other and then to their lord. "What makes you so sure he was right?" The latter asked.

"The hobbits were not telling us something. I never thought I would say that hobbits were difficult to deal with but the Thain was about as easy to deal with as a dwarf." The lord paused for a moment, "Although, far politer. If he was rude I think I would have searched the entire Shire and not cared about the implications. None of the hobbits I have ever known stooped to rude behaviour outside of extremely drastic situations, remember the goblin?"

The three chuckled slightly, all three could remember Belladonna Took apologising the first time she had killed a goblin and then had proceeding to become very offended the creature had ruined her tunic with its life blood.

"Could it be the Fell Winter?" Erestor asked, "That amount of destruction would change any community, let alone the hobbits who are not made to endure that hardship."

Glorfindel started to untie the reins of his horse from the tree branch he had been tethered to. "I suppose. Did you see the halflings were watching us leave?"

Erestor nodded, "Indeed, hobbits when in large numbers are not particularly subtle. It was like they were waiting for us to leave. I think the last time I was regarded with that amount of suspicion was when I was envoy to King Thror of Erebor a century ago."

There were sounds of agreement from the party members. The advisor continued, "I mean, what could the hobbits do or have that would be so dangerous or special that they felt the need to hide it from Gandalf, the Rangers and us?"

"Mayhaps they adopted a cave troll and have it hidden in their pipeweed plantations." Glorfindel commented wryly as he mounted his horse.

"Or a Warg in their Party Tree?" Erestor returned.

"I am sure we can discount the hobbits making a treaty with the orcs too." Elrond added evenly, "But there is still something off and the hobbits have little experience of life outside the Shire. It would not take too much for an unscrupulous character to cause great harm."

"I could go back and check." Glorfindel offered. He was an elf, he would walk unheeded if he so chose and the Shire was a very easy place to traverse without being spotted.

"Nay." Elrond stated, "I fear we must trust our little friends. As much as we desire to we cannot interfere with every race and thing when we feel like that. I am sure that Thain Took would have found some way to inform us if they were in danger. If they do not want our help then we cannot impose."

Glorfindel and Erestor nodded, it was one of the problems with immortality. Due to their long lives they had learned from experience and could often see the problems that the younger races could not. It would be too easy to point out faults, or try to lord over the men, dwarves or hobbits but that was not why they were created or what they wanted to do. The elves had suffered for centuries and millennia, peace was what many of them needed and that could not be achieved through wars and vendettas.

"At least, if we manage to restart the trade routes, we shall have eyes and ears regularly in the Shire." Elrond sighed. "Although, from what the Thain said it seems they may drag out the details."

"Elladan and Elrohir could visit next year." Erestor proposed, "The relationship they had with Belladonna may make her father a little more open to our assistance or advise if it was needed."

"It makes sense, my lord. I believe Arador was planning on taking his son to visit next year to meet the Thain, perhaps the combined presence of the Rangers and the elves may have a greater impact."

"It is a good plan. The next time the Rangers come by Imladris we can broach the idea with them. I have no wish to terrify the hobbits into submission so maybe a gentler way may help."

* * *

When Lord Elrond and his party returned to Rivendell, he was to find a letter upon his desk from his mother-in-law.

 _My dear Elrond,_

 _Something is changed in recent months, I know not what it is but I can say that the consequences of this change will spread far and wide throughout our world. As of yet I cannot say whether these ripples spread for better or worse. I have watched for hours at my basin and seen only the movement and yet no hint of a catalyst. I find myself disconcerted that I cannot point to a cause or location and I write to inquire whether you have seen or heard anything._

 _Arwen is well and has spoken of her desire to return to Rivendell for a few years in a few months. The paths of the Misty Mountains grow ever more treacherous so I dare not risk her safety by not sending a suitable guard. I shall write in the next few weeks of our plans and when to expect her._

 _May the blessings of Eru accompany you,_

 _Galadriel_

The elven lord sat back in his chair, brow furrowed as he considered the contents of the letter. His mother-in-law had a tendency to be rather nosy and interfering should the mood strike her yet in this he could not help but ponder her concerns. The Lady of Lothlorien was rarely unable to see the happenings of the world or glimpses of the future in her mirror. The last time he was aware of this was during the First Age and the atrocities of Sauron.

May the Valar help them if this was what she was foreseeing. With a heavy sigh, Elrond pulled a piece of blank parchment closer to him so he could inform the Lady of Gandalf's concerns about the inhabitants of the Shire and his recent visit. While it may not be anything, he should at least let Galadriel know.

* * *

Midsummer was the largest holiday that the hobbits had. As a race who thrived in the good weather and warm seasons, it was celebrated on a very large scale with events lasting an entire week and preparations starting months before even that.

At the centre of it though were two very important events, the first was a market so large that it had to happen in the large common grazing fields between Hobbiton and Michel Delving and the second a large party by the Tree to which every hobbit was invited. The market was such a fixture of their society that nearly every hobbit, from the youngest faunt to the oldest gaffer arrived and mingled, caught up and shopped. While the weekly markets were very good, they were nothing compared to the range available at the Midsummer Market where nearly everything the Shire produced could be found.

It was also one of the few times of the year when goods from the men and dwarrow were available. While the hobbits would not be too comfortable with a dwarf or man setting up a stall, there were a few enterprising hobbits who acted as buyers for the silks, foods, drinks, animals and trinkets from the other races. They would buy what they knew would sell to their fellow hobbits and then sell them on for profit. It was actually a system that worked well for all parties involved.

As Lyra wandered around the stalls she was amazed and delighted by the sights and smells that surrounded her. There were stalls dedicated to jams and jellys, others that purely had moonshine, several that had barrels and pouches of pipeweed. One entire row of stalls were dedicated to cheese while behind that was one with vegetables.

She had arrived with Dobby and Kreacher but after seeing the sight of the row upon row of stalls they had both almost vibrated with excitement and ran off, several bags trailing behind them. Around two hours later, Aldagar Bolger, who ran a stall covered with little silver trinkets from the dwarves, had commented that he'd seen Dobby carrying several wheels of cheese past him only ten minutes previously.

Lyra had laughed slightly as she picked up a dainty little silver belt buckle, "Well I am sure they are very happy then! I think they are busy buying things for the party tomorrow! How much for this Aldagar?"

" For you, ten silvers. I hope you know how much we are all very much looking forward to the party."

Lyra grinned happily as she handed over a handful of coins and pocketed the belt buckle that would work well as a fastener for her new cloak. "I shall pass that onto Kreacher and Dobby. They will be delighted to know everyone is excited. I must actually find them though before they clear every stall out! I will see you tomorrow, thank you!"

* * *

As could be expected, Dobby and Kreacher themselves were very excited by this event too and as soon as they had heard about it several months earlier, they had retreated to their shared bedroom for a planning meeting. From what Kreacher had informed her, they rather felt that as Queenie it was her job to host a feast for all her subjects and their jobs to prepare it. So used to the quirks of house elves and particularly hers, she had just nodded and agreed to their extensive plans and promised that she would turn up and be an erudite and entertaining Queenie.

The evening of the party even Lyra, who had spent six years at Hogwarts, had been very impressed by the feast that had been spread out on large tables around the Party Tree. Stacks of pies and quiches; vats of soups and stews; pastas and salads; legs of meat marinaded and coated in spices and herbs; fruit tarts and pastries; marshmallows and little individuals glasses of possets and ice creams. So much food was there that you could barely find any hint of the tables beneath it, although she had actually surreptitiously cast a couple of strengthening charms on the legs just incase the occasional creaks she had heard were from the tables rather than the tree that rustled in the wind.

"Kreacher? Dobby? There are times when even I am amazed by your abilities."

Kreacher sniffed, "A good Queenie is judged by her household. We can't be letting you down. We are not some silly brownie or goblin."

"Well, all the same." Lyra replied with a slight chuckle, "I am very grateful, for everything. Not just today, but always."

"Dobby and Kreacher know that." Dobby exclaimed as he stared up to his mistress with adoration in his eyes, "Dobby and Kreacher stay with you always."

"Enough chatter." Kreacher croaked as he prodded Lyra to stand among the tables, "You stand here and greet guests. Kreacher and Dobby be getting the drinks served."

By serving the drinks, Dobby and Kreacher meant charming a few hundred glasses to fly in close formation under some open kegs of wine and ale and then arranging themselves on trays that floated gently around the green at a suitable height for the shorter guests.

Around half way through this parade of glasses filling, the first hobbits started arriving, it was a large party of Tooks who wandered over chattering happily. They exclaimed with glee over every little detail that Kreacher and Dobby had placed around the fields, from the little lanterns that crisscrossed everywhere to the repurposed metal milk churns that had been filled with huge bouquets of wild summer flowers which filled the space with their light scent.

As Lyra should probably have guessed, they were far more impressed by the huge piles of food. A few hobbit parents seemed to be pulling their fauntlings to heel to prevent them diving into the food without prior approval. Lyra was not one to stand on ceremony and so grabbed a piece of meat pie, placed it on a plate and, kneeling down, handed it to one of the small faunts that stood behind Old Took.

Grimbold looked between the plate his Queenie was offering and his grandfather and after receiving a roll of the eyes and a nod from the latter, he grabbed the plate and promptly dived in. This seemed to be the symbol for the every growing crowd behind Old Took and the hobbits descended on the tables like gannets into the seas.

Lyra, who was still on her knees, laughed outright, particularly when she saw Old Took's hand covering his eyes.

"I have tried to teach my family a little bit of decorum and as soon as there is food involved, it all goes out the window." He proclaimed, "I don't know why I bothered in the first place."

Lyra wiped the mirth from her eyes, "Come on Gerontius! Dobby and Kreacher opened some very nice wine if you are interested?"

"Very!"

As all hobbit parties did, the entire event was soon full of dancing, singing and music. At one point Lyra found herself sitting calmly with Bilbo on one side of her and Dobby and Kreacher on the other just surveying the party as the sun slowly went down below the White Downs. The few minutes of peace soon ended as a gaggle of her little fauntlings found her asking for a story before they were put to bed in one of the tents. And so she sat there regaling the little group with the story of the four Pensieve children who found themselves travelling through a wardrobe to a land of snow and ice.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: The Halls of Mandos**

Although she had been welcome in the Halls of Mandos for well over six months Lyra had not yet seized the opportunity and had instead giving herself with reasons not to visit. Although she was now used to the idea of speaking to the dead, visiting the afterlife seemed a completely different thing. Lyra was not by any means scared of the possibility, after all she had the opportunity to speak to many of the greatest elves in the long history of Middle Earth. She could not, of course, be sure who had moved into Valinor but if she had the opportunity to talk to any of those great titans from the First and Second Age that she had read about then she would be happy.

Between the various libraries of the Shire she had learned a great deal about the history of the elves, unlike the dwarves they were much freer with their past and so she learned about Oropher who lived in Doriath until it was destroyed by the dwarves of the Blue Mountain; about the fall of Gondolin and the betrayal of Maeglin. The history of the elves was not peaceful, but she could only admire how they had managed to survive and build a culture and home despite it all.

And so, having informed Bilbo and the house elves that she would be absent for a few hours, she gripped the stone, closed her eyes and turned the stone thrice in her hands, thinking of Mandos and his halls.

"Hello Lyra." The familiar voice of Mandos intoned, "How lovely to have you visit!"

"Well, I thought I might pop by for a fleeing visit…" The woman replied, her eyes still closed.

This seemed to amuse Mandos, "You can open your eyes you know?"

"What should I be expecting…the fires of hell? A Cerberus in the corner chewing on some poor soul's femur? Some coffins in the corner..."

"Come now, I have a little more taste than that. No femurs, I promise."

He really did have more taste than that, Lyra thought as she opened her eyes. She stood facing into a large arcade of columns that supported a vast ceiling that had been decorated with images of the skies, they were so realistic that it almost looked as though the columns supported the very clouds themselves.

"It's amazing!" She said lowly.

Mandos smiled gently down at her, "I know." With that he gestured for her to walk with him further down the great arcades. "I am glad that you have come, I was beginning to worry that you would forever make up excuses not to come!"

Lyra sniffed, "I will have you know that the annual cheese competition of Hobbiton is a very serious event and as Queenie I found it my privilege and honour to be involved!" She kept up the facade for a few moments longer before she chuckled, "Now I am here I have no idea why I did not come. It is immensely calming."

"It's what they were designed for but what did you think my Halls were for, Lyra?" Mandos asked, sounding more interested that annoyed.

Lyra thought for a few beats as they continued to meander down the arcade. "It is a place of judgement and reflection. Where souls can recover and move on or stay."

"In many ways that is correct. Elves live such long lives that they see so much. They need time to recover from everything, not even always the bad things. An elf could live for a millennia and encounter no war, nor hurt or loss and they would still need to come. It gives them a chance to consider, reflect and reconcile the lives they lived and the lives they wanted to live I suppose. Because of this, even if they have done bad things in their lives, they can still change and improve enough here that they can move forward to the shores of Valinor."

Here Mandos paused slightly, "Would you like to meet one of my guests?"

"Yes." Lyra exclaimed, looking around the seemingly deserted space.

Mandos smiled slightly, "Come, I believe he is watching the tapestries."

"The tapestries?"

"My wife weaves the tapestries of life that show the comings and goings of Middle Earth. For some it is a great comfort to watch and know that their kin continue on."

"Who are we meeting?"

"Oropher." Mandos' words were both an answer and to hail a figure standing surveying the intricate tapestries that bedecked the walls.

Lyra gasped slightly at the sheer beauty of the man who stood in front of her. He was the first elf she had ever seen in the flesh and he seemed to glow with an ethereal light that shone from his very being and core. His hair was at first glance blonde but upon closer inspection it was almost white His deep blue eyes inspected her with a gaze that seemed to pierce her very soul itself. Perhaps most disconcertingly was the fact that he was obviously ageless, even a simple passing glance would have told you that he was different; that time would never be written across his face in wrinkles and creases. Only in his eyes could you see the weight of the years he had endured and lived.

"My Lord Mandos." Oropher said with a slight bow.

"Oropher, while I know you have seen my representative through the tapestries, may I introduce her to you in person. Lyra, Queenie of the Hobbits, may I introduce Oropher, Former Lord of Northern Mirkwood, King of the Silvan Elves and King of the Woodland Realm."

"Hi." Lyra said before slightly kicking herself for her awkward introduction, "It's nice to meet you."

"And you my Lady. You have done a great deal of good in the short time since your arrival and, I am sure, will continue to do so."

Lyra was certain that her answer was a half stuttered intelligible mess of words.

The king tilted his head slightly to the side as he glanced once more at the tapestry and then at her. "Do you know why I died?"

"You fell in with the Last Alliance didn't you?"

"I did. My people and I cared little for the affairs of the world beyond our borders. We had suffered enough at their hands and so decided to withdraw further and further from them. However, I knew that if we wanted any sort of peace we would have to answer the calls of the Last Alliance and so I summoned my generals, my armies and my kin and led them out of the safety of Amon Lanc. I joined Gil-galad and his force and we met the foe at the Battle of Dagorlad. Perhaps the battle lust had come upon me, perhaps I was arrogant but I made an early charge without the orders or support of Gil-galad."

Here Oropher paused and turned to look at an image of the tapestry of a throne of twisted roots and branches in a cavernous room. "My son was there with me. He was injured by the spawn of Morgoth but survived to return with only a third of that great army. Everyone else who fell with me in that ill-fated charge has moved out. Out into Valinor, yet I remain here."

Lyra looked at the tapestries and could only feel a deep empathy for the elf beside her, "You know I did the same? I led an army into battle and many I cared about died. Whether you die with them or outlive them, it still hurts."

"That is understandable."

"I suppose that Middle Earth is my Valinor, a chance for me to recover and move on. Making peace with someone's death or your decision is not forgetting their sacrifice. But it is your decision and not something you can pretend so you know when you have achieved it. I will never get the opportunity to speak to those who died in the war but I will never forget them; if I could speak to them again, I would want to tell them that I suppose."

When she did not receive any reply from the king, Lyra backed away slowly and walked to Mandos who stood a few metres away.

As they turned to leave, Oropher called out. "Thank you". Lyra turned to look back and saw the blonde elf striding away from the tapestries between the columns and out of sight. She turned to a smiling Mandos.

"Where did he go?"

"He has done as you suggested and moved forward. He has been forcing himself to stay for nigh on a century. He needed someone to kick him out the door in Valinor."

Lyra turned back to look at the space where he had stood, "Will he be okay?"

"He is with his people now, he will be fine. Thank you. I know that his comrades in arms have longed to see him again for many years. When they first all arrived in my halls, Oropher locked himself away, punishing himself with his solitude and unable to face the people he believed himself to have failed. It was only when the last of them left that he came out to see the tapestries and punish himself by seeing the son he left and the grandson he never met. His people have waited a long time to speak to him and to support him and now I believe he will let them. Thank you, he needed to move out."

Lyra was still unsure but she trusted Mandos and, trying to raise the mood, asked, "So, did Lúthien really manage to get you to give her a second life by singing to you? Orpheus and Eurydice all over again, no?"

Mandos laughed as they walked. "I never thought of it like that. I know grief, I see it every minute of every hour but with Lúthien it was different. The elves are immortal, and their souls are too; they live knowing that they will always see their mates again whether it be in five years or a millennium. If they die in battle, then their souls come here until they pass onto Valinor, their mate will nearly always meet them here or in Valinor. With Lúthien it was different, her mate was a man and as mortal as they come; she knew that she would never see him again. She died from grief and would never have recovered, her soul tormented for years. I am not made of stone."

"Does it happen often that elves find their mate in a mortal?"

"No. But when they do then they must give up their immortality, so they may pass on together. When an elf chooses to give up their immortality their souls will join those of the other humans in the afterlife."

"That must be a difficult choice. Your family or your love."

Mandos hummed in consideration as he looked around his Halls. "Perhaps not, I believe it is both the most difficult choice and the easiest. Maybe that is why it is so hard, they know there is no contention between them despite the fact that you wish there were. And at any rate, the hardest part of it all and the part when you regret that decision is when the one you love passes and you are left alone until you too can join them. Then is when I suppose you reflect the most about your choice."

A few hours later, Lyra returned to the Shire. The bustle of life in Middle Earth, even just in the Shire seemed a racket after the harmony of Mandos' halls but she shook herself off. She loved the Shire, but it was still nice to know that she could have the peace she needed on occasion.

* * *

 **Chapter 13: A New Home and the Barrows**

"Well." The Thain said one day at their weekly 'council' meeting with the Mayor and the Master of Buckland. "As the weather is so nice today, I thought it would be nice for us all to go for a walk. Does that sound like an acceptable idea?"

"Certainly does, old chap." The Mayor said, heaving himself from his chair and grabbing another one of the cinnamon danish whirls that Lyra had brought. "We can take the shortcut through the fields to Hobbiton. I have been meaning to see how the crop has taken there and there is a market in Hobbiton today we can go to."

The Master too rose from his chair and started stacking the tea tray back up, "Good plan. My wife has been craving some persimmons again."

A walk sounded a lovely idea to Lyra too and she moved to help the Master, "Has she craved persimmons the last four times she was pregnant too?"

The Brandybuck chucked slightly, "Indeed, every single pregnancy. At one point she added it to everything and let me tell you, persimmons do not go well with lamb!"

Nearly an hour later as the meandered out of the last of the wheat fields, Lyra was slightly baffled when instead of heading toward the bridge by the Bywater Pool they veered left.

"Are we not heading to Hobbiton?"

The Master nodded, "We are indeed but thought we would make a bit of a detour. It shouldn't take too long."

Lyra shrugged but frowned when started walking along the Great East Road towards the Brandywine Bridge. Her confusion only grew as around half a mile later she spotted a group of hobbits and two house elves standing by the new store they had been building for the past few months. At one of their councils months ago, Gerontius had raised that there was no communal store for medicines, foods and supplies should the worst happen and a bad winter return. They had therefore decided to construct one near to the Great East Road so it would be accessible for all. She had not been allowed to go into the site as the roofs were apparently too low for her and it was quite unsound for a few months after building.

Maybe they had finished and she was getting to see it for the first time? It was certainly a good idea to have such stores and she was glad the hobbits were preparing for the worst.

However, she couldn't think why all the hobbits, including her three walking companions were so nervous.

"Is everything alright?" She asked warily.

"Oh yes, we just have a surprise for you!"

"For me?"

"Yup!" Bilbo stated for they were now within earshot of the crowd of hobbits.

Gerontius smiled gently, leaning on his walking stick. "As you know, we promised you would always have a place in the Shire and we thought we would give you a permanent place of your own."

"A home?" Lyra exclaimed, "You built me a home?"

The hobbits smiled and she was gently ushered around the side of the hill to the door.

The round door was on the opposite of the hill from the road and was painted a Gryffindor red and had been framed with plants that had obviously been chosen for the scents. Lilacs, honeysuckles and lavender grew profusely around and looked for all the world as though they had lived there for the past decade. It was wonderful and utterly perfect. As Fortinbras Took and the other hobbits who had designed and built her smial opened the door and gestured her in, it was all she could do to nod numbly. Even in her dreams in her cupboard under the stairs when she imagined her perfect home, it was nothing compared to this. It was so different from the colossal grandeur of Hogwarts or the aged precision of Grimmauld Place yet it was better than them all.

As she stepped down into the hall, she realised with a happy grin that it was the perfect size for her, but still not too tall to make the hobbits feel overawed. Off the hall which had been painted a light ocher colour, there were three passages; her guides gently pushed her to the left one and into a comfortable sitting room already filled with her knick knacks. Central to the room was a fireplace around which were several chairs, a sofa and a low coffee table. Off to one side was a large table over which were spread several of the maps that she had been using to learn the geography of Middle Earth.

The next room was a library, filled from floor to ceiling with her books, both magical and otherwise and many other additions besides. In the centre was a large round table with several chairs around, and in the window, a desk already stocked with a letter rack and her ink pots and quills. The open window, which faced out towards the White Downs, allowed a pleasant breeze to carry the scent of climbing blush roses in.

She was shown the kitchen next although Dobby and Kreacher had been keen to highlight that it was their kitchen more than hers. It was probably for the best though as the majority of it had been made at hobbit (or house elf) height; she was slightly suspicious thought that this may be to deter her from cooking. Gleaming pots hung from the ceiling while in the first pantry just off the kitchen, there was shelf upon shelf of jars and boxes while, from the ceiling, were hung hams and meats. Beyond that pantry there were a further three empty pantries, although everyone had assured Lyra that these would be for general Shire use in winter.

Dobby and Kreacher had their own room beside the kitchen, with little hobbit or rather house elf sized bunk beds that had been decorated with roughly finished wood that fitted in perfectly with the smial. They had obviously taken the time to add their own things too as Dobby and Kreacher had both added the quilts Adamanta had made for them to their beds while, above Dobby's bed was hung his socks and above Kreacher's was the locket of Regulus Black. There were also two little chests which must contain their clothes.

Her own room was not something she ever could have imagined and she adored it. It was almost split into two section, at the back was the bed section. which seemed to be dug into the very wall like a little cave filled with a mattress and numerous blankets and pillows. She could already imagine crawling into it and curling up to rest; she had always loved the four posted beds of Gryffindor and this was the perfect hobbit equivalent. In the front section was a large fireplace beside which was the arm chair she so loved from Bilbo's house on one side and, on the other, her battered old school trunk had been placed in the window alcove as another seat with a couple of cushions propped up on it.

There was a little wardrobe room that had been already filled by her wonderful house elves and decorating the back wall were all the flower crowns that her fauntlings had given her, hung up on nails like a living wall of flowers.

By the time Lyra had completed the rest of the tour and had been led back outside to see the garden she was overcome by emotion and sat down on the doorstep and started sobbing, "It's perfect!"

"Is that not good?" One of the younger hobbits asked in concern.

"Yes."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't really know... Thank you. Thank you! It's wonderful!"

"You really like it?" Fortinbras asked nervously.

Lyra wiped her eyes, "Absolutely, can I have a hug?"

After she had given everyone a hug, ran back inside and around her house to see it all once more she reemerged from her home. "To the Party Tree then!" Lyra exclaimed, carefully closing the door so as not to chip the paint. She could come back and admire her home again later but now she had to celebrate with her wonderful hobbits.

And so, while she did not make it to the Hobbiton markets that day, she did get to the Party Tree.

* * *

One of the first proper problems she encountered in the Shire was met around a year after she arrived. She had, of course, heard about the barrow wights that inhabited the Barrow-downs towards Bree. From what Lyra could glean from hobbit books and their own stories, the barrow wights were shape shifting spirits, not unlike the boggarts of her world, however, these spirits could reanimate the remains of whatever dead lifeforms they could find. Accompanying this terrible habit was the fact that they could hypnotise their victims, luring them to them; then they would chain them to an altar, cover them with ancient jewels and pale cloth before using a sacrificial knife to end their torture.

The first time Lyra had heard this she had almost been sick, these horrible creatures seemed to possess every negative quality a creature could have. What made it worse to her was that every few years, a hobbit would disappear overnight and likely their lives were ended by the spirits inhabiting the barrows. However, for all her research, one thing alluded her, how to get rid of the things.

She knew they only came out at night, and during one of her trips to Buckland she had seen the green glow amongst the huge standing stones on the Barrow-downs. In her mind, Lyra viewed them like dementors, they seemed to share enough qualities that she believed that between fire spells, light spells and her patronus she should be able to protect herself enough to find the root of the problem. As far as she knew, the barrow-wights were sent by the Witch-king of Angmar in an attempt to prevent the Dúnedain from visiting their dead and the site of their ancient city, the capital of Cardolan. The standing stones were once the great foundations of the settlement while the dead who lay beneath the monoliths were the same dead whose bodies the wights borrowed and whose jewels they wore.

And so, having explained to Dobby and Kreacher alone what she planned to do, Lyra headed out east one day in the autumn. While the two house elves had protested vehemently, they at least believed that there was little chance of the Mistress of Death dying at the hands of dead spirits. She did not take much with her, seeing no need to be burdened down with a heavy pack. Instead she carried only her sword, a small bag of food and water tied to her belt and the Hallows.

Standing on the edge of the Barrow-downs, Lyra could feel the malevolent presence that spread like a spider web throughout the area, it seemed to stick to everything, trapping anything that made the mistake of being too close. She was certain the closer she got to the middle of the standing stones, the more wights there would be and she had no desire to face several at the same time when she had little idea what she was exactly looking for or how to defeat them when she found them. Bearing this in mind, Lyra started trekking along an invisible diagonal line through the sporadically dotted stones towards the north east, with any luck, she may meet one spirit on her way.

By the time she hit the outer stones three quarters of an hour later, she had come across no wights and she was about to return along the way she came when she started to hear a low sound in the wind. It was already a terrifying place to be once the dark descended and the huge stones towered over her, casting eerie shadows that flickered and rippled in the light of her flaming torch. The stones themselves loomed over her by a good three foot and seemed to engulf her very presence. However, as she stopped and turned trying to work out what direction the sound was coming from, she mused that with the soft hissing and murmur of movement, it was a hundred times worse.

As she turned once more, she came face to face with a dark figure who gleaming eyes caused her to trip back a few steps. As she fell to the ground, the figure leaned down to her and grabbed her lower arm with a supernatural grip. Lyra could immediately feel her strength sap and feel the chilling imprint the hand caused, even through her layers of clothing and warming charms.

 _"Cold be hand and heart and bone_  
 _and cold be sleep under stone_  
 _never more to wake on stony bed_  
 _never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead_  
 _In the black wind the stars shall die_  
 _and still be gold here let them lie_  
 _till the Dark Lord lifts his hand over dead sea and withered land."_

There could be no mistaking the thing for what it was. A barrow-wight. She could not loosen the grasp of the spirit who started to pull her towards two nearby stones which had fallen against each other over the years, providing a lair for the creature to shelter during the hours of light.

With her right arm in the grip of the wight, Lyra had no way of grabbing her wand from her holster and so instead, using her left hand, she awkwardly pulled the sword off her hip holding it more like a dagger than a sword. She brought the blade edge down onto her captor's arm which severed under the blade. Now that she was free, Lyra span out of reach of the wight and drew her wand and summoned her patronus.

The stag needed no encouragement and chased the weakened spirit down. No sooner did Prongs touch the thing then it disintegrated, fading into nothingness. Lyra collapsed to the earth, huffing out a few breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and gain some feeling back in her body. It was almost as bad as the first time she had seen a dementor, except thankfully without the fainting. She crawled to a nearby stone that faced the lair, and with Prongs standing guard, sat for a good half hour recovering. Pulling the bag of food from her belt, she dug around and while Middle Earth may not have the chocolate she craved, they did have sugar and so she sat and ate a large amount of the fudge that she had 'liberated' from Bilbo's store which seemed to have a similar effect.

"That wasn't fun." She muttered to herself, "How many more are there?" As she reached into her bag to pull out another square of sugar she added, "God I hope they can't reproduce! If they don't, I can just pick them off a few at a time until they are all gone."

When she was certain she had recovered, Lyra pulled a piece of ribbon out of her bag and tied it to the pair of stones that she had almost been dragged to. She needed to examine it during the day and she had no wish to traipse around every standing stone trying to find one she knew had been inhabited by the evil creatures. With a huff, she pulled herself together and sent Prongs away, there was little chance of getting anywhere near a spirit with a patronus in tow.

As she nervously clicked her fingers together in an effort to calm herself, she thought of a little shortcut, "Point me barrow-wight." Her wand span on the palm of her hand in a circle before stopping facing the east. "East, it is then!"

By dawn the following morning two other wrights had met their end and Lyra returned to the site of her first kill. She cautiously made her way to the pair of stones. The shadows the stone threw meant that she could not see what resided beneath easily but with a quick 'lumos' she could see the hole into the barrow below.

Like most people, Lyra was not fond of diving through a small hole into an unknown space possibly filled with unknown creatures and she hesitated at the entrance for a few moments before she slid down the hole feet first. The lit wand threw rather disconcerting shadows around the space, it was probably around six metres squared and at the centre was a low stone altar with gold chains to wrap around the poor souls who died upon it. There were no visible bodies but instead there was a rather large collection of gold that had been arranged around the edge of the space.

With a sigh, Lyra called, "Kreacher?"

With a crack, the house elf immediately appeared in the cavern, "Missie Lyra, is you okay?"

"I'm fine Kreacher, just in need of a good sleep soon. I need some help though." With that, Lyra started to recount the events of the previous night. Once Kreacher had heard the whole story he looked around the space, "Kreacher is thinking you should be removing the gold and destroying the altar."

"Are we not robbing the graves of the Dúnedain in doing that?"

The house elf thought for a moment, "Kreacher is not sure but he is thinking that they is preferring to have no gold than to have their graves being houses for bad wights."

"You are probably right." Lyra said with a sigh, "Can you remove this for me then? I need some fresh air, it isn't particularly nice in here. If we store all the gold in one place for now, then we can give it back to the Dúnedain at some point, preferably when we have destroyed the rest of these things and they can return to mourn their dead. Although, I fear they will not know where their dead are buried and who the grave goods belong to. Even great kings can be forgotten about as the centuries pass."

"Kreacher will be taking this away. Maybe we should be making a map of where the wights were killed and the treasure found?"

"That's a good plan Kreacher. I shall put a mark on the stone to mark this is the first we found. Anyway, if you take this back, I shall go and visit Old Took and tell him what happened last night, he deserves to know."

Kreacher smirked slightly, "Kreacher is sure that Mr Thain will be very happy to be knowing you out killing things without telling anyone."

Lyra groaned slightly, Kreacher was right of course. Her hobbits would not be very happy to know she was doing stupid things. "Come on Kreacher. Let's get moving here, there are still two more possible sites for altars so if you and Dobby start on this one I shall head to the next?"

* * *

Now that Lyra was firmly ensconced in her new home and winter had passed she had the time to inspect the contents of her trunk at her own leisure. After digging through boxes of small trinkets, almost an entire library of books and a few random items including a banner with her family crest on it, she pulled out the box Neville had given her for her birthday. After she had prised open the lid carefully, she found within it a rather bizarre mixture of plants all shrunk down and under individual stasis charms. With a bemused sigh, Lyra shuffled a few around before eventually finding, wedged between what looked suspiciously like a Whomping Willow and a small innocuous cactus, a box of seeds. Flicking the little brass catch, the witch opened the box and surveyed the contents which had all been separated into trays and stacked one on top of another.

With a finger Lyra prodded one in particular, trying to think of any reason why Neville thought that she would need seeds for Chinese Chomping Cabbages, it was an absolute menace in a garden as it had a habit taking bites out of surrounding plants. Beside these seeds were small sections of Bitterroot, again a really very ugly plant that was almost useless. With a shake of her head, Lyra saw the seeds for Dittany too. Actually, the only uses that these three plants had were in healing potions. Oh wait, Lyra thought. The cabbage was used in Skelegro; Bitterroot was often used in portions to heal minor cuts while the steeped leaves of Dittany were used to regrow skin.

Lyra chuckled slightly, she was going to have a very ugly garden, probably the only one in the Shire! But at least the plants would be useful.

The climate of the Shire was most similar to that of the Home Counties of England, discounting the occasional harsh and devastating winter. However, like any garden with some tender care, some magic and the advice of her little subjects, Lyra was sure she could create a little ecosystem to suit each of the plants. (Although heaven only knows what Neville intended her to do with a Whomping Willow). As Lyra looked out of the small window of the smial she sighed with contentment and just relaxed for a few minutes to exist in peace and harmony.

Eventually she shook the cobwebs of thoughts out of head and as she placed the seed box back into the larger one, spied a small folded piece of parchment tucked into the soil of one of the shrunken plants. Teasing it out and shaking it free of the soil that clung to it, Lyra unfolded it to see the very recognisable cursive of her godbrother.

 _Hey Lyra,_

 _I have no idea where you are now, but I hope you are well and enjoying your life. I thought that between the books and your herbology lessons you could cope but I didn't think you would know what this plant was. Luna made me put it in, it's a Theobroma Cacao tree. It's used for making chocolate…! If I didn't know any better I would have thought you were related to Remus._

 _Always with all my love,_

 _Neville_

With a burst of laughter, Lyra refolded the paper and tucked it back into the pot, thinking how she couldn't wait to plant it and eventually harvest it. She only had a very limited idea how chocolate was made and the information she did have came from a trip to Hampton Court before she went to Hogwarts; the palace actually had an entire kitchen dedicated to the making of chocolate. The hobbits, Lyra was certain, would take to chocolate like ducks to water.

Luna had obviously been directing Neville to include the right plants and trees, her odd habit of knowing things had obviously been very useful in her own preparations.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Mourning**

Old Took was not called that without reason and it stood to reason that the Thain of the Shire would eventually succumb to his many years three years after Lyra arrived in the Shire. He had lived over 130 years, which was unheard of among hobbits and had lead a very good life, leading his people well and raising his many children. A sudden illness overtook him and within a week he had passed on peacefully. With the end of his seventy-two-year rule, Isengrim, his eldest son soon took the mantle of Thain, becoming Isengrim III. Many in the Shire mused that the poor hobbit's rule would not be long, after all he was now ninety and had no wife nor offspring.

Hobbit funerals were rather similar to what Lyra had expected. They happened almost immediately, probably one of the advantages of having a family who lived so close. Gerontius was buried near to the Tookborough and upon his grave, Isengrim planted a single elder tree. Unlike other races, hobbits saw no reason to leave headstones upon the graves of their dead, instead their death would provide life to something else, continuing the circle of life and allowing them entry into the Garden of Yavanna. If people wished to remember their dead, then they could visit the tree and enjoy the life that it was. Lyra found she liked the idea, she had always reflected that Dumbledore would have loathed his gleaming white tomb in Hogwarts; he would certainly have loved the idea of a lone tree as a memorial. While she now knew that her spirit would never die, the Mistress of Death decided that if her mortal shell was ever to fall, she would like to be buried in the same manner.

The months after Gerontius' death had been difficult for Lyra. The old hobbit had become a dear friend and she had enjoyed many conversations with him and he had offered much advice to her. While he had been the reason she had had to stay in the Shire, she was so grateful for him for allowing her to stay and helping her make a place for herself. While Isengrim was a good hobbit, he unfortunately did not have the force of personality as his father which seemed to put more pressure on Lyra as he found his feet in the role and recovered from the loss of his father.

And then only four months later Adamanta, who was twelve years her beloved husband's junior, would follow him to the grave. The hobbit had held on as long as she could, trying to ensure that her son was suitably installed as Thain and that her family was as content as she could make them but, eventually, the desire to be with her husband in the beyond was too much. Her daughter-in-law found her when she had gone to give her afternoon tea, Adamanta was seated in the garden she had lovingly tended to for so many years looking towards the sapling that stood over the grave of her husband. On the table, beside her was a large stack of envelopes, one to each of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, as well as one for Lyra.

It had taken Lyra a few days to pluck up the courage to open and read the letter. Spread between helping Isengrim, speaking with the many grieved friends and relatives as well as preparing for the coming winter, she had not much had the time either. When she finally decided she would read the letter, she had walked out onto the Green Hills and sat for several hours on one of the hillocks that dotted the Shire.

 _Dearest Lyra,_

 _It is difficult to write a letter knowing that these will be the final words you ever have from me in this world. I seem to have drafted a hundred letters for each of you and yet I believe this one to be the hardest. There is so much I wish I could say to you but know will never fit in a letter or doesn't matter yet in your life and so is irrelevant. You have done more for us than you can imagine and while I know that you have never really let me say it when I was alive, I wanted to say thank you._

 _Thank you for everything you have done and thank you for the difference you have made in our lives. Even if you have only been with us for a few years, I can see the impact that you have every day and I am grateful for every part of it. And when Gerontius passed I know he was gladdened to know that even if you chose to move away from the Shire, you at least loved it as we do. Even if you were not born a hobbit, you are as much a hobbit as a Took or Brandybuck. You came to us without knowing peace and I believe and hope that you have found it here. But please, accept that there may well be something beyond the Shire for you._

 _What is beyond, I cannot say. But when it comes, and you have that chance to find happiness, take it and do not be selfless about it. As someone who had the joy of living a life beside someone, I know that you need that too and I feel that this may well be beyond the Shire._ _You may doubt that you will find someone but I promise you will. And they will love you as we do, for your spirit and the joy that you bring with you._

 _So remember, that why my, at times idiotic, husband, agreed to get you to sign that contract, it no longer binds you. You are free and while you will always have a place in the Shire and with the hobbits, I hope that you will not confine yourself to it. I love you, you are one of my children and I want you to love a life that you are happy with._

 _Love,_

 _Adamanta_

Lyra was used to death, she had seen it many times but there was something different when someone she loved died of old age, she had never experienced that before, every death she had seen had been because of war and hardship and cruelty.

"Mandos!" She cried, the letter still in her hands, "Mandos? Can I visit please?"

Within an instant she was standing in the great arches of the Halls of the Dead with Mandos standing before her, a gentle expression on his face and sympathy radiating from him.

"Does it get any easier?" Lyra begged "Knowing that you will live while everyone else around you pass on?"

"No. It just gets easier to cope." The Vala relied softly.

Lyra gasped slightly, the heavy sobs choking her. "What happens to hobbits? Please? I need to know now."

Mandos smiled gently, offering one hand to her but not moving to take her hand, "I can do one better and show you."

Lyra eagerly grasped it and closed her eyes as the Halls melted away. On her face the Mistress of Death could feel warmth skin and the flutter of a gentle breeze. Warily she opened her eyes and looked around the place where all the souls of her beloved hobbits would find their peace.

If she thought the Shire was beautiful, it had nothing on this place. From their position on top of a tall rise, the pair looked down into the valley beneath which sprawled into the distance. Rivers and streams meandered between gentle rolling hills that were covered with grass and flowers. In the far distance were golden fields of wheat and barley that were broken by colourful hedgerows and orchards. It was idyllic and looked picture postcard perfect, there were no signs of inhabitation aside from the distant fields and orchards.

"And they all come here?"

"Nearly all, there will be a few exceptions who will need even more peace than even the Pastures of Yavanna will be able to provide."

"Where are all the hobbits then?"

"The hobbits live further from here, beyond the fields in the distance. But we are here to meet someone in particular. Lyra, may I introduce you to Yavanna? Yavanna, you of course know of Lyra!"

In her study of the Pastures, she had missed the approach of the Vala. Yavanna was everything Lyra had wished she was, tall, willowy and utterly perfect. Her blonde hair was so long that it ran in gently curls down into the knee-high grass and her green dress made it seem as though she had grown out of the very hillside itself. In fact, she did not seem to walk but to float over the carpet of flowers and grass.

"Hello Lyra." She said, her voice sounding like the bubble of a brook or the wind through summer leaves. "It is an utter pleasure to meet you."

Lyra stuttered slightly in response and tried to curtsy as her eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at the beauty of the Vala for any longer. However, she was caught by the elbows by the very one she wished to kneel herself before. "My dear one." Yavanna stated pulling her into a hug, "You, of all people, will never bow to me. Never!"

"But…" Lyra started, trying to rearrange her thoughts.

"You have done so much for my people,

Lyra's lack of reply did not seem to deter the Vala who tucked the girl's arm under her own as she turned to Mandos who had been standing to one side, a small smile playing on his lips. "We don't need you anymore Mandos. You can collect Lyra in a few hours, go and find someone to irritate."

Mandos merely smirked, "Your husband then?"

"Oh, please? He has been a bore recently!"

"With pleasure then." With that the male vanished, leaving behind a rather confused Lyra.

When Lyra was spirited back to the Shire several hours later, her head rang with information but she felt far more at peace than before. Perhaps to set her at ease, Yavanna had explained to her a great deal about the Pastures and her own history. Like the Halls of Mandos, the pastures were located in Valinor and were shaped completely by her desires.

As the pair wandered through the Pastures, Lyra had found herself calming and while she saw neither hide nor hair of any hobbits, she sat least was content they were happy and at peace. She eventually found herself talking to Yavanna in a way she would have spoken to Luna or Hermione back on Earth, telling her of the grief she experienced, the insecurities that plagued her and the dreams she had. Through it all, the Vala had only smiled and asked gentle questions; as Lyra looked around the Shire she mused that it was the best therapy she could have imagined.

The Queenie of the Hobbits slowly meandered back to her home, relieved she had the blessings of the creator of the hobbits and happy she knew her friends would be happy when they finally moved on. As she spied the smoke coming from the kitchen chimney of her home, she sent a little prayer for to all the Valar for the souls of the departed and mused whether Dobby had made the treacle tart he had been promising.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: The Unexpected Journey & Dinner with the Elves**

Bilbo Baggins was a very content hobbit, sitting in front of his house enjoying the Thrimidge spring sun and a pipe. His garden was all finished for now, his pantries were full, his house clean, there was very little to be disturbed by. As he exhaled another lungful of Old Toby and closed his eyes, he mused on the fact that Lyra should be back soon, it was her second quarterly travels and she had been gone seven days and was due back in four. He had just seen Dobby and Kreacher yesterday at the markets where they had been busy buying food for a supper party the day she arrived back. Bilbo was, of course, invited and he was very much looking forward to the delicious beef wellington and fruit roulade they were going to have.

His contented contemplations of food were disturbed by the warmth of the sun disappearing off his face. Eyes still shut, he wrinkled his nose slightly, only deigning to look at whoever was disturbing his lovely morning when he heard a slight cough. Once he saw the Tall Person bedecked in grey robes he slightly wished he hadn't opened his eyes and he shuffled slightly uncomfortably at the gaze on him.

However, he was not called Baggins for nothing and so greeted the man with a curt, "Good morning."

"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you meant to say that you feel good on this particular morning or are you simply stating this this is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo blinked a couple of times, trying to work out what on earth the man was saying, "All of them at once I suppose."

The man hummed unimpressed and Bilbo found he had to break the silence, "Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, "I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures…. Nasty disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner." He stated, putting his pipe in his mouth and picking the post out of his post-box. "Good morning!" He proclaimed again, heading up the steps towards his green door.

* * *

Looking back at that moment, Bilbo was certain that he should had gone out to the Green Dragon that evening so no dwarf could have barged into his house, eaten his food and thrown his West Farthing pottery around like it was a toy. Indeed, to Bilbo, it seemed that every single moment of his first few weeks with the Company could be summarised in one single phrase, 'Everything would be much better if Lyra was here'. Lyra could make fires with the flick of her wrist, cast warming charms without a thought, clean clothes without even deigning to look at them and she could certainly pull a handkerchief out of thin air for him.

As he pulled himself off Bungo, his entire body stiff and unresponsive from the long hours in the damp climes along the East Road, he staggered towards the campfire with his bag.

"Halfling!" Thorin called, "See to your pony before you laze around by the fire."

Bilbo groaned and muttered unintelligibly under his breath that he was going to drop his bags off before he saw to his pony. Continuing his grumbles, he dropped his bags on the ground and then turned to Bungo.

Actually, he knew without a doubt that if Lyra was there everything would have been better. In fact, the only remotely fun thing that had happened were the occasional times when he could wind Gandalf up, while he may be a very powerful and respected wizard, he was still not doing very well looking after them all. They hadn't even reached the Last Bridge and already Fili and Kili had almost drowned.

It did not bode well for the future Bilbo mused as he grabbed a twist of dried hay to rub Bungo down after he had removed the saddle and bridle. Even if they actually made it to the Lonely Mountain, there was a dragon waiting at the end, a dragon that Bilbo had to burgle. As Bilbo started to sniff from the hay, he considered that Lyra would kill him anyway if he returned to the Shire anyway.

* * *

Lyra arrived back in her smial, rather pleased with how her trip went. The Halls of Mandos were always a very interesting place to spend a few days and she had been able to spend some time with several very interesting elves.

As she set her cloak on the hook, she was disturbed by the frantic calls of her two house elves. "Oh, Missie Lyra!" Dobby cried, "Mr Bilbo has left!"

Lyra turned quickly and dumped her bag on the ground beside her, "Left? Why would he do that?"

When even Kreacher looked perturbed, Lyra knew something was very wrong. "Mr Bilbo had a man visit and then a party of dwarves appeared for supper. The next morning Mr Gamgee said he saw Bilbo running out of Bag End with a bag saying he was going on an adventure!"

"An adventure? But Bilbo doesn't like adventures. When was this exactly?"

"Four days ago." Kreacher answered quickly.

Lyra ran to her room, "Kreacher? Can you pack me a fresh travelling bag? Dobby, I'm going to need some food and water. I'm going to find the Thain and let him know that I'm off to rescue Bilbo and I will be back as soon as I can. I will get the horse tacked up on my way back!"

With that, Lyra ran back out of the door and down towards the Tookborough.

Kreacher looked at Dobby and croaked "You heard the Queenie. Let's make sure to pack a few potions, I am sure this not end without injury. I will set out her travelling clothes too"

An hour later, just after midday Lyra rode out of the Shire along the East Road towards Bree in the hope of catching her errant hobbit and his dwarfish companions.

* * *

"Thirteen dwarves and a Halfling, Gandalf. These are strange travelling companions." Elrond said as he lead the old wizard up the steps to the balcony to dine. From the states of the dwarves who seemed to be more tightly wound than a spring he was deeply suspicious of the motives of the visit. He had already had to ride out to cull a pack of wargs and Glorfindel was still out there with a few others scouring the surrounding areas for any strays.

"These are the descendants of Durin, they are noble ancient folk." Gandalf answered "They are surprisingly cultured, they have a deep love of the arts."

The elf lord raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the eclectic group in front of him. "Indeed Gandalf. However, we shall eat and then discuss the real reason you are here."

Elrond was just inspecting the last of the pilfered swords when an elven guard entered the dining area and head towards the high table. Leaning down he whispered to Elrond, "My Lord. There is someone at the gates."

The elven lord looked up, wine glass half way to his mouth, with confusion and interest, "Who is it?"

"She would not say, the only thing she has said is that she will not give us her name until she has seen the Halfling?"

"The Halfling? She is one herself then?"

"No, a human. But she did request the Halfling by name."

Gandalf and Elrond exchanged a look, "Bring her here, but post a couple more guards first. We shall see what this is all about." When the guard left the lord of Rivendell leaned closer to the wizard but kept his eyes on the hobbit still seated among the dwarves, "Can you think of any woman who would need to see Master Baggins?"

The wizard was baffled, "I have no clue, I suppose we must wait and see their reactions to each other."

They did not have to wait long for as a couple of minutes, but within that time, four more elven guards appeared on the balcony. Then an enraged voice called from within the halls.

"BILBO BAGGINS!"

While those around the tables in the setting sun could not see into the darker interior, it was obvious whoever was inside could see them, or at least one hobbit sitting at the near table.

"Uh oh." Bilbo stated before he stood and tried to hide behind one of the dwarves, it must be noted that this was without much success as had been trying to hide behind Ori.

The dwarves in turn jumped up and turned to defend themselves and their companion, dragging their burglar behind them as they reached for their weapons. Whatever they were expecting to see climbing up the steps to the balcony, it was certainly not a rather short woman with long dark hair that ran loose over one shoulder. Her clothes were clearly for travelling but were very well made and suited her beautifully; a blue undershirt with a boiled leather jerkin to protect the trunk of her body and a warg fur draped over her shoulders. On her hip sat a sword that anyone could see was a piece by some virtuoso smith, the huge ruby in the pommel glinting teasingly in the orange sun.

"Bilbo Baggins!" She said, her voice sounding rather harsh, "You get here right now!"

Thorin stopped the hobbit from walking forward with his left while with his right he pointed his sword at the girl, "He isn't going anywhere. Who are you?"

Gandalf approached the group alongside Elrond, both eying the girl warily, "I must echo the question. What business do you have with my hobbit?"

"Your hobbit?" The girl asked in a surprised tone, "I think you will find he is my hobbit. Now give me my subject and I shall be on my way?"

Gandalf's aura darkened visibly and he gripped his staff closer and snuck a hand onto the hilt of Glamdring, "Your subject? Now anyone could tell you that hobbits don't have queens or even kings."

The girl groaned and started to reply but her answer was interrupted by Bilbo, "We actually do. This is Lyra Potter, Queenie of the Hobbits."

Gandalf looked at the girl in disgust, "You proclaimed yourself ruler of the hobbits?"

"No actually." Bilbo stated, still slightly recovering from the fierce expression that had just graced the wizard's normally genial face. He finally managing to extricate himself from the dwarves to stand between his queenie and the irate wizard and elves. "We proclaimed her queenie, she didn't want to be."

Elrond sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I think we need to sit and discuss this like the adults we are and hear the full story before we judge."

It took a couple of minutes to arrange everyone and for a few more of Elrond's councillors, including Erestor, to arrive. As Bilbo felt that anything Lyra said would not yet be trusted by those gathered and so took the lead.

"Just before the winter of TA2917, I found Lyra lying unconscious on Bag Shot road, I took her into Bag End. About four weeks later the Brandywine River froze over again and we were at risk of attack. Lyra, who had been trained in combat situations, chose to go to the river and try to ensure our safety. She fought off attacks for two days, including orcs, wolves and wargs."

Many elves closed their eyes, trying not to think about the possibilities that attack may have had on the hobbits. The dwarves looked at each other before studying the girl, trying to decide how on earth the slip of a girl could fend off a puppy, let alone a warg or orc.

The hobbit continued, "When the fighting was over, she returned to Bag End to recover. My grandfather, the Mayor of Michel Delving and the Master of Buckland called a meeting in the Great Smials. I was not present at the meeting but it was decided that we, as a race, wanted Lyra to stay. It could not be decided how best to achieve this so one of my cousins suggested that we draw up a contract stating that Lyra would stay with us and in return we would crown her Queenie and look after her I suppose. Now, for some idiotic reason, instead of approaching my house guest to see whether she would sign it, they decided a more circular route was needed. So, they got her to sign it by getting her drunk from moonshine and putting a pen in one hand and the contract in the other."

"There was no need to say the bit about me signing it drunk; you could have left it at the fact I signed it." Lyra griped, trying not to blush at the memory.

Gandalf made an exasperated noise, "Let me get this straight Bilbo, because I am hearing you say something but cannot quite believe it. Your grandfather, who was a very clever, respected hobbit, along with the rest of your kinsmen, got a young girl, who you barely knew, drunk and made her sign a contract to become your queen?"

"Queenie." Bilbo corrected, "And yes."

Elrond raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the hobbit who was studiously avoiding meeting anyone's eyes, "And I take it this is why the inhabitants of the Shire have been acting so peculiarly for the past twenty-three years."

The hobbit blushed, he did not really want to lie to the elves about exactly why they had sought to keep "Yes. We felt that everyone may overreact to the change."

"Bilbo?" Lyra said, her voice quiet, "We may as well tell them."

"Really?" Bilbo asked, looking up to her face.

Lyra sighed and stood from her chair to walk around the balcony in an effort to clear her head. "Bilbo, like all the other hobbits, is trying to protect me. There is a reason why they wanted to keep my presence quiet. Gandalf?" She asked, "You came here at the behest of the Valar. How did that come about?"

The wizard seemed surprised at the turn of conversation, "Manwë asked and I came."

Lyra smiled self-deprecatingly, "I suppose that is, in some ways, similar to my experience."

Shock rippled through the assembled and Elrond's eyes hardened as he surveyed the woman, he knew the Valar sent representatives when Middle Earth was in dire straits. "You were sent by the Valar? What was your purpose?"

"I was not sent by the Valar but by one of them acting alone but with the permission of Eru. And my purpose? I have little idea, unlike Gandalf I have no mission to protect the free peoples of Middle Earth. I was sent by my patron to recover."

"Which Vala sent you?" Erestor asked.

Lyra looked to the man and tilted her head as she surveyed the dark headed elf, "I do not feel I can say just yet."

"And do you possess magic?" Gandalf asked, "I see no staff."

"I do indeed possess magic; however, I am not a Maiar spirit and do not use a staff."

The wizard turned to Bilbo, "And the fact she is Vala sent is why you chose not to reveal her presence."

The hobbit nodded, stubbornly stating, "We feared she would be taken from us. She is ours."

"My dear Bilbo, I have visited the Shire several times in the past twenty-three years and have visited many many times since the Shire was founded. Do you all think so low of me and Lord Elrond?"

Bilbo snorted, "Don't try to make me feel bad Gandalf. You haven't seen her magic. You would have dragged her around Middle Earth if you had."

"Can we see it then?" A young blonde dwarf asked pleadingly looking at the rather surprised girl.

"Erm…. I suppose so. What would you like to see?"

"What can you do?" Gandalf asked.

Lyra bit her lip, before drawing the Elder Wand from her sleeve. "Let me see…." With a flick of her wand, the decorative fruit bowl shaped like a swan that sat on one of the dwarves' tables became animated, stretching its neck up and flapping its wings. Ignoring the sounds of awe and disbelief around her, Lyra sent another spell at the dish, whereupon it rose up into the air, she then vanished the fruit. A final flick of the wand later and, instead of a crystal dish, there was a living and breathing swan that Lyra carefully brought down to ground level. When she did look up from the swan a moment later it was to see the open mouths of nearly everyone around her, including Gandalf and Elrond.

"So…" She started, "That's a little of what I can do. Sorry, I will get rid of the swan before it makes a mess."

"Get rid of it?" Elrond asked, "Can I not examine it first?"

"Oh, would you like to? Of course, feel free if you want to but it isn't very interesting. Just a normal swan."

"And it is like this forever?" Gandalf asked, approaching the rather baffled looking bird.

"Oh no, I can turn it back into a dish now but otherwise the spell will wear off after a while. Don't worry, you'll get your dish back."

"Of the two at the moment I think I would rather prefer a swan created by magic to a dish." Elrond murmured before he shook his head and turned back to the hobbit and his Queenie. "Am I to take it that this is the least of your abilities?

Lyra blushed slightly, "I suppose so, but temporary transfiguration is really quite simple. The key to it is imagination."

"Imagination?" Gandalf questioned.

"Oh yes, the basic theory of transfiguration is being able to imagine an object or creature into another. Which is why, if I thought hard enough I could transfigure the swan into an Oliphant but it would take a lot of energy as it is such a large change but if I were to change the swan into a… goose then it would be easy."

"Please don't make an Oliphant again Lyra." Bilbo begged.

A dark haired dwarf who was rather lacking in the beard department turned to the blonde, "Why ever not? I think an Oliphant would be fun. We would certainly shorten the journey to Ere..." Here he was promptly elbowed by the two dwarves on either side of him.

Lyra raised an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes, "Now." Lyra stated, "Would someone care to explain why Bilbo needs to go traipsing half a world away?"

The dark-haired, grumpy dwarf growled, "There is no reason for you to know."

The Queenie of the hobbits rolled her eyes again at the haughty behaviour of the dwarf and looked over to the Istari, "Gandalf? Care to explain?"

"Have you, by chance, had any experience with dragons?"

"Of course. What type? Horntails? Ridgebacks?"

"There are different types of dragons?" One of the small red-haired dwarves gasped.

"Naturally. It's sort of important to know what type you are approaching because they all have different strengths and weaknesses. I actually got to ride a Ironbelly dragon once. That was pretty cool... except for the whole riding a dragon thing."

Elrond looked over in astonishment and disbelief, "You rode a dragon?"

"Yup." Lyra replied dismissively, "We were staging an escape and it was either that or be caught be goblins."

"…Right. Did it not complain? Try to eat you?"

"Complain? Your dragons talk? Our dragons certainly couldn't. How bizarre." She mused. "Two ticks, I need some books."

"If you wish, you are welcome to use our library." Elrond said, slightly confused by her proclamation.

Lyra waved a hand, "Maybe later, I was actually meaning my books."

The dwarves and elves cast dubious glances at her light travelling pack and clothing.

"Dobby? Kreacher?" The witch called.


End file.
